


On Solid Ground

by WinterLanding



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Inspired by Game of Thrones, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2018-12-22 17:38:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 60
Words: 95,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11972325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterLanding/pseuds/WinterLanding
Summary: Sansa and Sandor meet again.This story picks up after Season 7.Also, this is my first fanfic work, in case it wasn't glaringly obvious. Please be patient with me, I am new to this.Any comments/constructive criticisms are very welcome!





	1. Chapter 1

-Sansa-

After Littlefinger's death, I felt strangely exhilarated.

Ladies aren't supposed to feel that way. Ladies are gentle and kind, firm and righteous, but tender in their ministrations. I had been that way, long ago.

Until Baelish. Oh, and Ramsey.

Especially Ramsey.

I rejoice in the fact that I am free of them every day when I wake. Then the task of a thousand things to do and hundreds of people relying on me in Jon's absence isn't such a burden.

I went a bit mad after I saw Ramsey defeated. I returned his tender ministrations upon him. I wanted him to see what it was to suffer. His army was defeated, his beloved dogs turned upon him, his cowed whipping girl of a wife, still standing, rose against him, and he was no longer able to terrorize anyone ever again. I felt no pity, I felt no remorse, just relief that the world was rid of one more monster. I had curious thoughts, that brewed and collected in my mind.

Strategic murder, being the most recent example. Justice, and regaining peace.

After the dream of love and beauty dies, what is left?

I asked myself that after I made my decision regarding Littlefinger. He did believe he loved me, more is the pity. Perhaps he did. But I didn't want that kind of love. To think that once upon a time I thought beauty, grace, and obedience would be enough to live happily ever after.

I had proven to myself that I was able to stay strong in times that were trying to break me. I was more than a pawn in a clever game.

I had suffered enough betrayal to know that you don't dine with it and make it your ally. You rid yourself of it.

Arya had no qualms, and Bran was still his oddly detached self as the events unfolded. It was a joint effort, on behalf of the Stark siblings. We couldn't have pulled it off without one another.

Afterwards, I stood on shaky legs, trying to keep my composure as I ordered the hall cleaned and the body burned.

I stood outside with Arya, after all physical traces of death were removed. Instead of rehashing the unpleasant deed, we spoke, as sisters do. Of father, mostly. This time with no hostility, just a reflection of what we had shared. He had always told us that the Lone Wolf dies, but the pack survives. We had almost forgotten that.

After a while, we found Bran in his usual spot outside the training yard and we stood behind him.

Silent and staring into the snow, we were a true pack, once again.


	2. Chapter 2

-Sandor-

The ship swayed and rocked as I tried to settle into my tiny bunk. Fucking impossible, as I had always been too large for almost every bed. My legs hung off the end. Finally I curled up on my side and gathered myself in the best I could. 

Now that the ugly dead fucker we had traveled with was gone, I could breathe a little easier on the ship. The look on Cersei's face when the dead man had lunged for her was priceless. I had never seen her show true fear. Then there was a moment of familiarity as I played the Hound, her former brute of a guard, and cut him down. She had better not get used to that. That time in my life was gone. 

And fucking Gregor.  
The one who had fucked me for life, he was there as well. He would be dead soon enough, this time for good. I wasn't used to being the second ugliest one around. Looked like I would reclaim my number one title.

 

I had gone to find Tyrion and see what could be done about some wine, just to help me sleep. I would never tell him that seeing Gregor and fighting the dead army had given me more than a few new nightmares that I didn't really need. I figured I didn't need to explain. But he had hurried past me in the galley, an odd look upon his face. I went in the direction he'd came from, and heard the sounds coming from the Dragon Queen's chamber.

Well, I suppose fucking is one way to tire yourself out enough to sleep. 

Quickly I retreated my step and found the kitchen area, where I turned up a small skin of wine and headed back to my bunk. After a while, I fell asleep.

 

Instead of dreaming about decayed bodies and flames, I dreamed about soft skin and silky red hair. Blue eyes that held mine in an unnerving gaze that I could never look away from. I woke up with a gasp and lay perfectly still, as the quiet snores of Jorah reminded me where I was. 

 

I hadn't dreamed of her in so long.

 

I had trained myself to shut her out of my mind after the night I could barely remember, when I'd found myself in her room.  
What a bloody fool I'd been, asking her to come with me. Somehow I found that I didn't regret it. I meant every drunken word I had said, that I would protect her and nobody would hurt her again. After that, it gets kind of blurry. I remember hearing her sing. I remember trying like hell to forget her. Maybe I almost succeeded. 

But waking up after dreaming of her was like a punch in the gut. It would appear I wasn't entirely successful in my endeavor. 

 

I decided, in that moment, I had to see her. Damned if I wouldn't after everything else I had seen. If this was the end, I wanted to see her, with my own eyes, one last time. 

Her pretty brother was in bed with the Targaryen girl, he was bound to be distracted, if the way he brooded before they had started fucking was any indication of how bad he would have it. Looks like we were all making the most of our last days before the end. 

 

All I wanted was to make sure she was okay. Make sure her little wolf of a sister was okay too. I snorted as an after thought. As if that little shit would ever land anywhere but on her feet. She was a brave little thing, foolish and hot headed, but brave and clever enough. I find myself thinking of the day Sansa nearly shoved Joffery off the bridge and I had to stop her. Hot-headed bravery must run strong in the Stark blood.

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to breath carefully, deeply and slowly. I allowed myself to think of her, just for a moment, as I slowly drifted back to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to anyone who might be keeping up with this story! I've delayed in posting anything, sometimes it's hard to find a spare moment! I hope to post more timely (and improved) content as the story progresses.

-Sansa-

The wind was cold. It blew and blew without ceasing. I stood, nerves trembling, as we waited for a sign of Jon's arrival. 

Tormund and Beric had arrived from the Wall just yesterday. The Wall was no more. The dragon that had died was resurrected and now part of the Whitewalkers. And they marched, by the thousands, towards Winterfell. 

I stared desperately into the bright sky, straining my eyes and ears, and offered up a prayer that Jon would have received Sam's raven in this weather and was somehow, miraculously, on his way.

Suddenly...I heard it. A disturbance in the howl of the wind. The direction of it shifted. To my wonderment, a large shape materialize in the distance. Then there were two. 

"Hold, men!" cried the soldier commander. I had instructed him to wait for my signal to send the soldiers into an attack. I certainly didn't want to harm the dragons that were their allies, and hopefully their saviors. 

The dragons came closer. The air puffed all around in icy cold blasts as a keening cry filled the silence. I held my breath and waited. 

Closer still. 

"Hold, men!" The commander repeated. I ignored his apprehensive glance in my direction. We were in dire straits. I couldn't chance a mistaken attack. 

The dragons landed outside the keep. Their sweeping wings fluttered the gentle flakes of snow in every direction. Two riders slid off the large creatures and walked forward. 

A cranking sound rang out as the gate opened. 

I nearly wept with relief as Jon and Daenerys Targaryen walked into the grounds of Winterfell.


	4. Chapter 4

-Sandor-

As soon as the raven from Winterfell arrived, things began to move very quickly. 

It was decided that Jon and Daenerys would travel on to Winterfell, by the quickest mode possible: dragon. The rest of us would follow behind as quickly as possible. Considering that the fate of mankind was relying upon their haste, plans were discussed. Many heated discussions and terse words passed through the ship. The air hung heavy with tense anticipation.

After a particularly trying day, I fell asleep quickly in my bunk. Just as well, it was painful to see Jorah silently brood after Daenerys. Anyone with eyes could see his devotion to her that was more than loyalty to a crown.

We would reach land early the next morning and several fast paced days on the road would try even the most patient of us. Sleep was a blessed friend tonight, so I thought. 

A dream overtook me, sweet and painful.....

Sansa walked in, skirts rustling. Her small gasp of shock seeing me perched upon her bed, waiting for her. 

Hazy, hazy... Memories of clutching her to me... A smile... "you won't hurt me"... The fear in her blue eyes turning into something soft, something....

"Clegane".

I come awake with a start. It's pitch black, only Jorah's voice to remind me where I am, keeping me from jumping up and grabbing my dirk from it's place under my pillow. 

"We are close to land. I think we should go on up." 

His eagerness for something other than war was not lost on me. 

I grunt in agreement, reaching for a clean tunic and breeches. Somehow I find that I too am in a hurry to get to Winterfell.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote an entire chapter and lost it because I forgot to back up my work. You know, like the warnings advise you to do? Oof.  
> So, here is a very revised version of that chapter! I promise things will start to pick up soon and we will all get what we came for: SanSan smut & fluff ☺

-Sansa-

I stood in the tombs of Winterfell, staring up at the statue of Ned Stark.  
I wanted to tell Father that I was sorry for a great number of things. I was sorry that I hadn't been able to shove Joffery off that ledge after he'd taunted me with Father's head on a spike. I was sorry I had done what I'd believed would ensure our family's survival, by chirping pretty words and going along meekly with plans, playing a part as a pawn in a great game.  
I was sorry I hadn't left with Sandor Clegane that night, during the battle of Blackwater. Perhaps together we would have found Arya and things could have been different.  
I know that regret is a useless emotion. Perhaps I was feeling nostalgic, another useless emotion. Because I might not see Winterfell again for a very long time, if ever.  
Jon called us together, privately, and announced that he had arranged for Bran and I to travel South, with Lady Brienne and Podric. It wasn't safe here, not with thousands of dead creatures and a dragon that could destroy the Wall. Arya was to go too, of course, but she had plans of her own. She was going to stay and fight, nothing Jon could do or say would sway her from that decision. Jon had looked at me, and said that a surviving Stark was needed. Bran, being unable to bear children, was not the Stark to keep the bloodline alive. I'd felt anger at the situation. Once again, my value lay in my womanly duty to bear children, and Bran, who had the power of the Three Eyed Raven, was rendered useless. He was valuable, in other ways than carrying a bloodline. So was I. Ridding the world of monsters was something I was growing fond of. But, I swallowed my anger, tried to see his reasoning, and agreed to the plan. Arya had smirked slightly. She didn't realize that both of us being stubborn and hot headed was a luxury that our family couldn't afford. Bran had been curiously silent throughout the entire conversation. Then he had asked to speak to Jon in private. They'd spent some time together in Bran's chamber. Jon later had fallen into a hushed conversations with Queen Daenerys and Samwell Tarley. Nobody was speaking of what had transpired, but things had been very tense around Jon and Queen Daenerys. They both seemed quietly desperate, for more reasons than the obvious. I did not want to leave the peace of the tombs. But I squared my shoulders and schooled my expression to hide my thoughts. I entered the front area, near the training yard, guards trailing me. Suddenly I heard a shout. I came up in time to see the gate being opened. In walked several soldiers. I supposed they were soldiers, as they were a very scattered assortment of warriors, each looking fierce and brave. One by one they stepped forward, as Jon stood by and Queen Daenerys greeted them like old friends. The Dothraki, I soon learned, who wore furs thrown carelessly about their bodies, wore their long hair proudly and left no doubt that they were unaccustomed to losing any sort of battle. Jorah Mormont, a seasoned fighter, who had been miraculously cured of Greyscale by Samwell himself. Davos and someone young I did not recognize but Arya apparently did. "Gendry?" I heard her whisper to herself. He seem equally awed by her presence as well. "Well," the man she'd called Gendry said, staring down at her with a half smile, "look who made it home to Winterfell". Arya had scowled, but couldn't keep the fierce expression on her face. She smiled up at him and he smiled back. He held out a hand and she took it. Bemused, I turned to look at Jon, to see what he made of this. But Jon was deep in conversation with Davos and another man. A large, muscular and intimidating man...who looked familiar somehow. My entire body hummed in awareness. Silently I willed the man to turn to me, feeling a curious pull towards him. I knew him and I wasn't sure how I felt about his presence. Not good, but not exactly bad either. The man, as if sensing my silent plea, turned toward me. Steely gray eyes met my gaze. I felt my stomach drop to my toes. Sandor Clegane. He had come to Winterfell.


	6. Chapter 6

-Sandor-

I didn't miss Sansa's presence. I had business to attend to. Keeping it short and to the point with Jon Snow and Davos, I held my breath as I turned to look her way. I'd felt her eyes bore into my back, and I found myself apprehensive about her reaction to seeing me. 

She had seem shocked. Then frightened. That wasn't good. But then her expression softened. Finally, she settled for a haughty lady of the keep, chin held high, her face a mask of indifference. It nearly brought a smile to my face. 

As I headed inside I would have to pass her. Tormund was slowly walking next to me, making ridiculous eyes at Brienne, who sighed visibly and tried to look anywhere but at him. I hoped I would never appear so foolish, but I did have to admire Tormund's tenacity. Wildlings were definitely a different breed.   
As I approached Sansa, my heart pounded. But then, I was headed off by the imp of all people. He stopped in front of his former wife and spoke to her. She stood stiffly, but polite. I didn't hear what he said to Sansa but after a moment, they both nodded kindly at one another and Tyrion went about his business. I resumed my slow pace in her direction.   
Gods knew what I was going to say. Probably nothing, damn it all. Coming all this way, and I had no idea what to say. I felt a rush of feeling flow through me, and for once, I welcomed it. I was thankful that she was alive. I was glad she was home. I was relieved to see her, despite the circumstances. I was filled with satisfaction to see her out of the Lannister and Bolton clutches, a Stark once again. 

Such pleasant feelings were foreign to me, and I didn't know if I liked them. I had learned the hard way that happiness was fleeting for a man like me. Better to stop my foolishness. I firmly shut that door in my mind and focused on the task at hand. I was here to kill Wights. To save mankind. To save Sansa Stark. "Damn it, Clegane", I growled to myself. "Stop being a flowery cunt".

"Talking to yourself"? Tormund asked me.

"Fuck off", I growled.

"Ah, if I only could. One day, I think she just might let me" he replied, staring at Brienne, who gave him a scathing glare, then turned pointedly away. 

"Good luck," I muttered insincerely. "I hope she doesn't chop your head off if you try. Or worse."

He barely heard me, grinning like a fool. With a last look in the direction of Brienne, he walked indoors. 

Turning back to the direction of Sansa, I was disappointed to realize she had left. I searched the yard, but saw no trace of her. 

"Looking for my sister?" a familiar voice intoned. 

Glancing down, I couldn't suppress a grin. "If it isn't the little wolf, all grown up" I barked a dry laugh. "Ever finish your list?"

"Not quite yet," she replied flippantly. "I've been busy with other matters." she looked pointedly up, and I followed her gaze. Sansa stood up near the top level of the keep, gazing into the distance. 

My breath caught. She was beautiful. Yes, her bright hair was a lovely shade, and her blue eyes were like two beacons in the winter setting. Her porcelain skin was smooth and creamy. She was tall, slender but shapely. She was truly a desirable woman, by her looks alone. But that wasn't all that made Sansa Stark beautiful. She was strong. She was regal. Despite all her trials,   
she had not broken.   
She was a true lady, through and through. 

And far too good for the likes of a scarred, ugly Hound. The thought brought me crashing back down to earth. 

I glanced back at Arya. As if reading my mind, she gave a slight smile. 

"Sansa stands there often. She is usually flanked by two guards. I don't think she would be opposed to you speaking to her, if that's what you're worried about".

I frowned slightly. The wolf pup was up to something. I hadn't spent months with her without learning how she thought. 

"I am telling you this because I know you won't hurt her." Arya said, her gaze trained steadily on me. 

That was the second Stark girl who'd said that to me.

"You won't hurt her, because even of you wanted to, you wouldn't be allowed to. And also, there is something that I need your help with. Something that I believe only you will understand."

"So I don't have to worry about you sticking me with that damn needle sword, you're saying", I said sardonically. 

"No, not at the moment", she replied without expression. 

"All right, girl. I'm listening" I said.


	7. Chapter 7

-Sansa-

It would seem that all was in order. We were ready, come what may.

Bran and I were packed and saddled upon two horses, ready to ride. Brienne sat tall in her saddle, face devoid of any expression. Beside her, Podrick fidgeted slightly, trying to look serious.

I looked around for Arya. My eyes swept the keep, but she was hiding. I knew she would be. Suddenly, I saw Sandor. He stood by the gate, glancing around furtively. My curiosity peaked, I turned slightly away from him, watching him out of the corner of my eye. He glanced around once more, then strode away with a determined air. Then I noticed the small boy he had been conversing with. Except, I realized, it wasn't a boy. And it scowled fiercely at me as it saw me looking directly at it, trying not to gawk.

Arya was wrapped in furs and a baggy soldier's outfit, hair cropped even more closely than usual, smudges of ash grazed upon her face. I bit my lips to keep from laughing. That was their clever plan, to sneak Arya out of the gates and into the direction of the fighting? I needed to do nothing. I would let Jon handle her poor attempt at farce.

Sandor walked casually up to my side. He was so tall, he barely had to tip his head up toward me, even though I was seated upon a tall horse.

"Very clever", I told him dryly. "Was it your idea, or hers?"

  
He smirked, eyeing her and turning back to me. 

I realized, with astonishing clarity, that he really was quite attractive when he forgot to be intimidating and fierce.

"Hers", he said. "I simply didn't stop her plans. She won't even make it out of the gate, and she will accompany you and your younger brother, as she ought to."

We watched Arya scurry away, presumably to remove herself from our line of vision. I laughed, for the first time in ages. 

I found myself looking at Sandor. He shook his head and looked amused as well. I didn't look away. His slight smile faded as he regarded me in return.

"I noticed you, several times, come to me then turn away. You looked as if you wanted to say something but never did. Why?"

I hadn't meant to sound accusatory. However, it was a question that had nagged at me. It wasn't like Sandor to be cowardly. He must have some sort of reason from holding back.

He opened his mouth to respond, but I would never know the answer he would have given. Because just then, the sky exploded.

A flash of blue light lit up all around us. An unseen force threw me bodily from my horse, and Sandor, somehow, grabbed me before I hit the ground. I was held flush against his chest as he whirled away from the source of the explosion.

"Bran!" I cried, twisting in Sandor's arms. To my astonishment, Bran was still atop his horse and riding directly towards the Godswoods.

I had no time to think. I twisted to the other side, and screamed for Arya and Jon.

I saw them, fighting with impressive skill. But what they were fighting wasn't human. Not exactly.

Some were nothing but bones. Some still appeared to have parts of their skin and hair.

None of them had any sort of human expression. At all.

Horrified, I clutched at Sandor, watching as the chaos erupted all around us.

Suddenly I felt Sandor thrust his arm forward. He struck a dead thing that was running our way, emitting an unearthly scream. As he sliced it cleanly in half, we watched it shatter like glass. I hadn't even noticed that he had taken his free arm, drawn his sword made of dragon glass, and was slowly circling the area where we were, prepared to defend us.

I knew I shouldn't hinder him. Still, I couldn't help but hide myself against him, trying to stay within his protective hold, turning as he turned. He was steely with muscle, tensed and ready.

He never drew his arm away from me. If anything, he held me tighter in his protective grasp.

  
A loud cry broke over head. Daenerys and her dragon circled the sky, fire spewing forth.

For a solid moment, everyone stood stone still.

Then it began.

Fire broke loose all around us. The wights were swallowed by flames. Sandor stood still, panic writ large in his eyes.

  
I knew I had to act, otherwise we would be the next to burn.

"Sandor," I urged him. Turning to face him, I gripped his shoulders and tried to pull his face towards mine. "Look at me, Sandor. We have to go, we have to leave. Now! "

Confusion clouded his expression as he lowered his gaze to meet mine. He did not move otherwise.

What possessed me, I could not say. I had simply wanted to bring him back, to wake him up.

Grabbing his shoulders, I pulled his lips to mine.

I kissed him, hard.

He was so still beneath me that I thought I had made things worse. Perhaps I shocked him, pushed him too far.

Feeling like an utter fool, I released my grip on him.

  
I meant to pull away, but he quickly wrapped his arms around me. With imminent danger all around us, fire and death thick in the air, he kissed me back.

His lips were smoother and firmer than I'd thought possible. Strong, velvet lips. I felt myself melt into his embrace. I threw my arms around him and let myself kiss him again, with all I had. 

After a time, either seconds or minutes, I could not say, Sandor yanked away, his eyes huge, and he seemed to visibly shake himself. He slowly loosened his hold. I slid down the length of his form, feeling a tingling warmth as his body rubbed against mine. 

  
Dazed, we stared at each other. I wanted to speak but couldn't. He seemed equally as incapable of speech. His large hand reached for my cheek, then he seemed to reconsider. I was surprised to find that I was disappointed that he didn't touch me. I wanted him to touch me....

The thickening in my head began to clear, and I realized that the noises around us rang out even louder than before.

We were running out of time.

A large plank of wood fell, right beside us. It hid the ground with a loud thud, fiery sparks glittering as it hit the snowy ground.

This seemed to fully wake us both up.  Holding his sword tightly, Sandor turned to circle our surroundings. The only clear path was the same direction Bran had gone, towards the Godswoods.

"Come on, little bird" he growled, sounding more like himself.

Clutching my hand, he ran. Without any hesitation, I grabbed my skirts and followed him, leaving the violence behind us.


	8. Chapter 8

-Sandor-

We ran for what seemed like ages. Really, it was about half an hour, stopping only briefly to catch our breath and listen to our surroundings. Only the natural sounds of the forest, sublimely unaware of the destruction happening only a short distance away, met my ears. No scratching, wheezing noises of the undead. No loud screeches and fiery gusts from live dragons. No clanging of swords, no screams of men dying.  
I remembered the solid sheet of blue ice from the Whitewalker dragon. No doubt the appearance of that unholy beast would visit my nightmares for years to come.  
Finally, we came upon a small cave. Night was growing closer, and the only thing we had was my sword and two knives to survive whatever happened next.  
Stopping at a stream, I encouraged Sansa to drink. She didn't need much encouragement, for she drank as thirstily as I did. We did what we could to clean the grit and grime off of us, the cold water refreshing after running for so long. Standing and stretching, I gave our surroundings a final once over. Deeming it safe enough for now, I lead Sansa over to the cave.  
She eyed me suspiciously.  
"It's the closest place we have to pass the night safely", I told her, trying to mask my impatience. Truth be told, I was exhausted, anxious, and needed some time to think, to plan our next move. A quiet cave seemed ideal, even if I had a beautiful distraction in there with me.  
She paused only a moment, then nodded her assent.  
"Wait here a moment", I told her. I stepped into the cave and swept it with my hands and feet. It seemed dry and secure, no creatures seemed to inhabit it, which was a good sign. I came back out and nodded to Sansa. She silently followed me into the cave, looking around.  
We settled into the small area the best we could. I removed my outer furs and lay them on the ground, to stave off some of the chill where we would rest. She watched me, then moved to unfasten hers as well. "No, Sansa, leave yours on. Otherwise you'll freeze tonight..." She gave me a queenly stare. "You are taking yours off, so will I. We have to work together, help each other. We can huddle for warmth, I hear it's the best way to stave off the cold". She managed to sound matter-of-fact, though I saw her cheeks redden slightly in the waning daylight. 

So she hadn't forgotten the kiss, either. I was beginning to think I'd dreamed her body up against me, her lips caressing mine, her arms clinging to me. As if she'd actually enjoyed it.  
"All right" I said carefully. I waited until she had removed her furs and settled them on top of mine. Then I told her, "I know you are hungry. I am too. But there is not much to be done about it tonight. It isn't safe to light a fire or set a trap. We can't afford for anyone to know we are here. Not yet."

She bit her lip and looked down. Raising her eyes back up to me, she asked me "where do you think Bran went?"

I had wondered the same damn thing, more than once. He had surpassed us in speed and distance, with very little head start. I couldn't help but wonder what had happened to him. 

"I didn't see or hear any signs of distress in the woods", I said carefully. "Could be that he got a head start and rode on until he reached a safe area. Perhaps a town. He is a clever boy, Sansa. He saved himself at the first sign of danger. His instincts are good".

She gave a small nod, and looked down at the ground again. 

"Come on, little bird", I said gruffly. "Let's get some more water in our bellies, to fill them up for now".

After we came back into the cave, we quickly decided that laying on top of the furs would not be warm enough. "I think....your idea will be our best chance", I said carefully. "I am not intending to be overly familiar, but if we lay on my furs and cover ourselves with yours...."  
"All right", she said quickly, shifting her weight so I could pull half of the furs out from under us. Trying to work out enough room to cover our bodies while trying to remain a respectable distance from each other wasn't easy, but I managed it somehow.  
Sansa burrowed herself into the furs as I worked to settle some large rocks and brush I had picked up from outside around the entrance of the cave, to hopefully protect us further from the cold or intruders. Finally satisfied with my work, I crawled slowly toward Sansa and the furs. She was silent and still, so assuming she had fallen asleep, I carefully worked my way into our makeshift nest.  
I had just gotten settled when I felt her creep close to my side. A soft sniffle from her tore at my heart, invoking tender feelings that I long thought dead. Soundlessly, I reached for her, pulling her toward me. She nestled into my side, and I held her close, feeling strangely content. She lay her head on my chest, allowing her hand to curl upon my shoulder. Her body fit against mine perfectly. I wanted to pull her even closer to me, but I settled for gently stroking her hair. Finally, her breathing slowed and I felt her fully relax against me. 

After a few minutes, we were both sound asleep, bad dreams at bay. For now.


	9. Chapter 9

-Sansa-

I woke up slowly, in measures.  
All around me was cold. I could feel a definite chill in the air. But warmth seeped through my body, as if I had fallen asleep while curled up next to something very warm.   
I snuggled closer to the comfort. I let my eyes shut again, and stroked the warmth next to me. Up, up, up....   
Down, down...   
Suddenly a hand stilled mine.   
"Sansa?" a rough voice, confused.   
My eyes flew open. Suddenly I remembered everything.   
Arya. Where was she now? And Brienne and Podrick? Jon, where was he? Was he even still alive? Oh gods..... And Bran. Despite Sandor's confidences last night, Bran was in fact helpless in many ways. Where was he?   
What was left of Winterfell? Or the entire North for that matter?   
I sat up straight, startling Sandor, who rose in alarm with me. He watched my face closely, concerned but guarded.

I tried to calm down but I felt my breath catch. Suddenly, I couldn't get enough air.

"Sandor....I need to get out of here." I whispered, trying to gasp for breath. I could feel my chest heaving. 

Without any preamble, he deconstructed the barrier he'd arranged last night. Before he could stick his head out to check for safety, I shot past him into the small clearing outside the cave, gasping for air in the frigid morning. 

He followed me closely, scanning the area with a practiced eye. Seeming satisfied he led me to the stream. He bent me down and cupped water in his huge hands. Thinking he meant for me to drink, I leaned toward his hands. Instead of giving me a gentle sip, he took the generous portion of water he held, and flung it directly into my face. 

Sputtering, I leapt to my feet, shocked and cold.

"Sandor", I gasped, "what....why...."

"Take a deep breath, Sansa" he told me. 

I glared at him. 

"Try", he said. "Take a breath". 

I opened my mouth to give him a very unladylike response. Then I realized that I was in fact breathing normally again. 

I took a breath. Then another. 

"That's it, little bird," he murmured. Reaching for my hand, he squeezed and massaged warmth into my cold fingers. Releasing them after a moment he said, "You were falling into a panic. I had to snap you out of it, that's usually the best way...."

I wanted to throttle him. I wanted to fall into his arms and weep. I wanted to demand that he take me to look for my family. 

I plopped down next to the stream. I cupped my hands and took a sip, slowly and carefully.   
Sandor sat next to me, preparing to get own water.   
Without thinking I took my remainder of water and flung it directly into his face. 

He jumped to his feet, swiping at his cheeks. 

"That is fucking cold! Sansa, what in seven hells...."

A giggle escaped me. To see a strong, capable man come apart over a handful of water struck me as somehow being quite funny.   
He stared at me as if I'd completely lost my mind. Then he chuckled, a dry bark of a sound.  
"It's what you deserve," I told him primly. "I don't recall throwing water in your face yesterday."

Sandor gave me a knowing look and turned away. I could have sworn I saw him hide a smile. Feeling myself beginning to blush, I hurriedly splashed in the stream, rinsing my face and hands, letting the icy water cool my flaming cheeks.

After a few minutes, Sandor told me "I will give you a few minutes of.... privacy. Then I think we should continue traveling. We are likely to come upon a town eventually. We can eat and perhaps see what we can do about horse."

"All right" I agreed. 

After we'd both taken care of personal matters, Sandor brought the furs out of the cave, shaking them out briskly. He held mine out and I stepped into them, allowing him to wrap them securely around me. His hands lingered, and I couldn't quite meet his gaze. His touch felt wonderful. I felt guilty for wanting him to keep on touching me. Unsure of what to do, I pulled away, swallowing a lump that was in my throat.

"I'm sorry", he mumbled, quickly wrapping his own furs around his body. His face was a study in self loathing. He looked almost angry.

"Don't be sorry", I told him. "Sandor, you have nothing to be sorry for. You are a good man. I am very thankful that I ended up in that cave with you." Feeling a blush begin, I brazenly added "and I don't regret kissing you yesterday."

I reached for him, but he put his hands up, then quickly lowered them, as if in half-hearted surrender. Taking a step back, he said "Sansa, you don't have to do this."

I frowned. "Do what?" I asked, unable to keep the petulant tone out of my voice. 

"You don't have to...thank me. I did what any decent person would do, saving you." 

I stared at him, feeling a plethora of emotions flutter through me. Anger, I hadn't asked for him to save me. Guilt, because he had gotten separated from his fellow soldiers because of me. Then it hit me: he didn't want me. He didn't want my kisses. He had held me out of pity last night. 

I felt foolish tears spring to my eyes. Turning away, I made a show of shaking out my skirts and smoothing my hair. 

Once I felt like I had myself together again, I forced a brisk tone. "All right, shall we be off then? I'm sure we could both do with a bite to eat. Perhaps we will even get some useful news if we come upon a town." I even attempted a small smile.

Sandor nodded at me. His face was empty of expression. He motioned for me to go ahead. Falling into step behind me, we marched along silently, only the sounds of birds and the wind blowing in the trees making any sort of sound. 

Finally we stepped into a clearing. A road was just beyond it. 

"Do you think it's safe?" I asked Sandor. 

He frowned, looking around. "I suppose it's safe enough for now", he replied. "As long as we stay aware of our surroundings, we can walk along the edge of the road. At any sign of noise, we go into the woods, out of sight, quietly. All right?"

I nodded in agreement. 

We set off down the path. By now my stomach was beginning to feel hollow. We hadn't eaten since yesterday morning, and I saw no apparent remedy for the situation. 

I stole a sidelong glance at Sandor. He walked at a steady pace but he had a grim, determined look about him. The lack of food could become a problem. If I was hungry I knew he had to be even hungrier. 

"Sandor", I began hesitantly. 

"What?"

"How far do you think until we reached the nearest town?"

He sighed. "I'm not sure, little bird."

Feeling a bit heartened by his use of the name he'd given me years ago, I set my mind to task. 

Finally, I grabbed his arm. "Sandor.... I did learn about plants and things that one could forage. From our Septa."

He stared at me. "You learned to forage.... From your Septa?"

"Yes. That means," I said, tugging him into the forest, "that I can feed us. Something. Until we reach a village."

With a bemused expression, he allowed me to lead him into the forest. 

After a bit of searching, I came upon a dry patch of greens, and some edible mushrooms growing under a tree.

Sandor made quick work of starting a fire. Using sticks he found from a tree I deemed safe, he scraped them smooth with a knife, and wet them with some snow. Sticking greens and mushrooms onto the sticks, we roasted them and devoured them.

Sandor leaned back against a tree, eyes closed, as I sat upon a nearby rock, dumping snow onto the fire and attempting to hide the evidence of our meal. 

Sandor opened one eye and watched me. 

"What?" I asked self-consciously.

"I just can't believe that part of your lady's education include foraging in the wilderness for food." 

"Oh?" I querried. "Did you think it only included how to sew and speak courtesies to the other empty-headed ladies? " 

He grinned. "Perhaps."

"Sorry to shatter your illusions about ladies, Ser Clegane," I teased him. "But some ladies actually learn useful things."

Sandor grinned in return. "I never doubted you for a moment, little bird. I can say that with full confidence, now that I have eaten and not fallen over dead from poisoning."

I threw a handful of snow at him.   
He retaliated, grabbing snow by the fistfuls and tossing them in my direction.   
Laughing, I ran from him. He caught up to me quickly, looping an arm around my waist and sprinkling snow into my hair. 

"All right", I gasped, still laughing. "All right Sandor, you win. This time."

I turned to face him. His eyes were alight with merriment, his smile gentle, and his arms around me felt safe and right. 

I had never known that a man could be both brave and kind, both fierce and gentle. Not since my father. 

That was were the similar feelings ended. 

"Sansa", he murmured.

Shamelessly, I threaded my fingers through his hair. Pulling his head down, I gave him a soft kiss. Then I pulled my lips away, remembering earlier, when he had rebuked my touch.

He leaned his forehead against mine and brought his large hand up to my cheek. I leaned into his touch. He was so gentle. I had long ago stopped believing that it was possible for a man to cradle me as if I were something fragile, and to be held with great care. Yet here was the fearsome Hound, Butcher of Blackwater, doing just that. 

Closing my eyes, I kissed him again, unable to stop myself. His mouth opened and his lips gently urged mine open as well. The flick of his tongue against mine stirred a nameless emotion in me. I needed something, but I didn't know what I needed. Tentatively, I stroked his tongue with my own, experimenting with this new kind of kissing.

Sandor gripped my upper arms and broke off the kiss, reacting much the same as he had yesterday, eyes wide, holding himself very still. 

 

"Sansa....I'm sorry. I......I promise that won't happen again."

 

"What....why?" I asked, utterly confused. 

"Sansa, I cannot kiss you. It's not right, I have no right to even touch you, to think the things that I have thought about you."

"Sandor, did you ever think that I might want those things too? It's very confusing when you say one thing but behave in another way."

You don't know what you want. Right now, traveling under duress, fleeing danger.... It makes people do strange things. I don't want you to act upon something you might regret later."

I briefly saw red. 

"I don't know what I want? Sandor, you cannot tell me how I feel. Do you truly think I don't know my own mind? I fully realize the danger we are in, and I realize that now, more than ever, I want to live, really and truly live. I am tired of hiding my feelings and being strong all the time. I feel safe with you, I want you. I want you Sandor. I want you as I have never wanted anyone else. I can't pretend that I don't."

Blushing, I looked down. I had said too much.

Finally I looked up. Sandor was silent, staring at me. 

"Don't fuck with me, Sansa. I am not made of stone. It's taking everything I have to not throw you down right here in this forest and fuck you senseless."

I didn't even flinch at his crude words. 

"Then do it." I said.


	10. Chapter 10

-Sandor-

It had begun to snow again. It came down in heavy white flakes, making it difficult to see all around us. 

It did nothing to help my mood. 

Sansa walked stiffly ahead of me, still angry. I didn't blame her. I was none too pleased with myself at the moment, either. 

I couldn't touch her. Not again. 

When she had pulled me to her in the forest, I had been shocked. Her innocent kisses, her arms clutching at me as if she wanted me, and nobody else but me....I was shocked that I had found the strength to pull away. No matter how desperately I wanted to going, I knew what was right and what wasn't. Some things couldn't be undone. Once she realized what she had done, laying down with a scarred up old dog, she would be filled with regret. And I couldn't stand to see her hurt any more than she did now. 

After what seemed like an eternity of walking in silence, we finally began to see the sights and sounds of a village approaching. Wisps of chimney smoke curled lazily in the air. Noises of people going about their daily lives were faintly making themselves be known. 

I touched Sansa's arm. "We need to take a few precautions," I told her. "Come with me a moment".

We entered the woods. Glancing around to make sure we were still alone I slipped a knife from my belt. Tearing a strip from my battered tunic, I quickly wrapped it up leaving just enough strip at each end to tie up her air.  
"Turn around", I told her.  
I tugged her silky hair back as gently as I could. Tying the wrap about her head, I placed the knife with the blade facing away from her, under her hair. I made sure it was secure and gathered her furs, tugging them up over her head. 

"People will recognize your hair", I explained in a low voice as I worked. "Until I know what we are walking into, I want you to have some sort of protection. Even after. If all goes well, I will teach you the finer points of using it tonight. For now, if you need this, grab it just under where I tied the cloth, at the handle. Stay out of grabbing distance until you're ready to use it. Keep it down by your side until you're ready to strike. Aim for the face, the throat. The side is even better. That's a deadly wound most of the time. All right? "

She seemed to pale, but she nodded at me. 

"All right," I told her, stepping back into the path once more. Tucking her hand into my arm, we headed for the village. 

*****************

To my surprise, we were able to secure the only spare room in the village's only inn, registered as a married couple named Tavner.

The owner of the inn was willing to take labor as a form of payment, being a cheerful old man who moved around very slowly. He seemed more than happy to have new guests to talk to. 

"My joints", he said, signing our name carefully and deliberately in his little ledger book. "That's what they tell me. I think it's living in this cold for so many years. It's settled into my bones, I say. But, what can you do? I fell in love, with a girl from this very village. Married her, we tried for years to have children, but we couldn't. Not at first. I told her, we have each other. I worked all I could to buy this inn. I wanted a place to raise a family and have a business too. We ran it together, then when we had all but given up on having any little ones running around, here comes our sons. One right after the other, until we had three bawling day and night. Be careful what you ask the gods for," he chuckled. "But they're good boys, they are. They never left our side when their mother took sick. They stayed by my side after she passed on. We helped each other through it, we did."

It was his sons, he said, who usually helped him with the heavier chores. They were growing up, learning trades, and would soon start their own lives. But they had the decency to help their father keep the inn going. 

"Where are your sons right now? " Sansa asked him gently. She had stayed quiet up until now. I suppose she was sympathetic to the plights of displaced families. 

"They've gone North, to join the cause up there. They needed men, anyway my sons have been chomping at the bit to get out of the village for a while. Maybe they'll get a taste of adventure, be ready to settle down after it's all over with."

"Have you heard any news from up North?" I asked as casually as possible. 

"Not yet, I haven't. But it's still early. They've only been gone two days."

The man was more than happy to give Sansa some curtains to repair. He rummaged around the cupboards until he retrieved a dusty box, which he said contained sewing things. 

"It's been a long while since we've had any skilled with the needle around here," he told her. 

I chopped wood out back, a job I had learned to do very well in the recent times. I fed animals, a few horses, pigs, and chickens. I fetched water. I repaired a broken chair, I carried wood for the fireplaces and buckets of water to the few rooms. Finally, after the last log was stored and the animals were secure for the evening, I gratefully took the man's offer of stew and bread and cider, along with two chipped cups and two bowls. 

Heading upstairs, I rapped at the door. 

Sansa opened it. 

"You shouldn't just open the door for anyone," I told her. The room was warm, the glow of the fireplace warming the small area very well. I glanced at the one bed in the room and glanced away quickly. Too hungry to really lecture, I set our fare upon the table and began dishing it out. 

"I knew it was you," she replied drolly. 

"Next time, wait for me to say something. I could have been anyone."

She sat at the table, her back straight and tall. Without even glancing at me, she broke the bread and passed me the first piece.

We were silent as we ate. It seemed we were both too stubborn to be the first to break the silence. Since we'd arrived in the village, we had only spoken when necessary. And even then we had been short with one another. 

"I asked for a tub", Sansa said after several minutes. 

"And?" I said, scraping my bowl to get the last remaining bits of stew. 

She watched me a moment, then handed me her bowl, the stew not nearly half gone. "I'm not very hungry" she explained. 

I handed it back to her anyway. "You need to eat. We don't know when our next meal will be."

She took a few small bites, then handed me back the bowl. "Eat, Sandor."

I decided that I would feed her meat the next day, even if I had to set a trap and wait in the cold for hours. 

I ate it and watched her nibble her bread. 

"What were you saying about the tub?" I asked her.

"I thought you might like to bathe. I know I would very much like to bathe. And we need to clean our clothes. I brought up buckets of snow after I finished the curtains. They're by the fire. We should have enough water for both of us."

I swallowed the last of the stew. "I suppose I will have to invent some chore to give you your privacy. It would look strange for a married couple to clear out while one another is bathing."

"There is a screen. You don't have to leave. I'll be quick." she insisted. 

"As you wish, wife." I teased her. Then I wondered if she would take offense. I watched her face carefully. She gave me the first small smile she had given me all day. 

After dinner, I helped her set up the bathtub in the corner of the room, as close to the fireplace as possible. She insisted on moving it back a little, which puzzled me. I realized she was thinking of me, and the way I felt about fire. Upon that realization, I felt extremely vulnerable and a little sad. I had bathed in cold water so many times since my childhood "accident", I had grown used to it, willing to endure it simply to avoid heating anything up over the fire.  
It was necessary for a soldier to learn to endure uncomfortable things.  
Still I agreed to move it back a bit. We filled the tub and added the few buckets of hot water she had ready. I folded out the screen and left with the dishes to carry downstairs. I intended to give her some privacy, no matter what she said. 

"Sandor?" she asked. 

I paused on my way out the door.

"Hurry back." she said in a soft tone. 

"Aye, little bird. I will hurry. Remember, wait for my voice before you open the door."

She nodded. 

I walked downstairs to take our dishes into the kitchen. I cleaned them as quickly as possible and went directly back up to our room. While I had intended to give Sansa more time, I found myself anxious about leaving her alone. 

I knocked at the door. "It's me" I said, pausing to listen. No response. I knocked again, a little louder. "Ah, Lady Tavner?" Still nothing. Feeling a slight panic, I opened the door and hurtled inside. 

Sansa let out a little squeak and jumped back covering herself. She had been rinsing her clothes out in the larger bucket. She wore only her small clothes. 

Turning around quickly, I fought the urge to groan aloud. 

"Shit. I'm sorry. I knocked but I guess you didn't hear me. I didn't realize you were..."

"Sandor, it's all right," she said calmly. "I'm behind the screen now. It's fine. No harm is done."

Sighing, I turned around. She was in fact behind the screen. I heard the gentle sounds of splashing. I cursed myself for not staying gone just a bit longer. Imagining her bathing after seeing her barely clothed was not helping my self-control. At all. 

After a few moments I heard the disturbance of the water and saw her head peep up from behind the screen. 

"My clothes are drying. I am coming out now, but I have a towel," she said, her tone apologetic. 

Before I could respond, she stepped out from behind the screen, wrapped head to toe in a worn linen. Her barely visible hair was damp and her cheeks were rosy from the bath, making her blue eyes look even bluer. I took a deep breath, feeling slightly dizzy. I have seen her beautiful face countless times already, I told myself firmly. I could handle this. 

Then she stepped in front of the fire. The glow illuminated her body, until every curve and hollow was visible. She seemed completely oblivious to this as she arranged her damp clothing along the bannister, then crouched down and began cleaning her remaining garments. She then let the linen slip slightly until her head was uncovered. I didn't know where she had found a comb, but she had one in her hand now and was working on untangling her hair. 

I felt an insane urge to go over to her, take the comb from her hands, and work on the silky tresses myself. 

Forcing myself to move away from her, I walked behind the screen and stripped quickly. I bathed myself methodically, rinsing the best I could in the tub. 

I felt much better as emerged, wrapping myself gratefully in the two linens Sansa had thoughtfully left for me. Being clean was one of the few pleasant things I enjoyed in life. 

I stood, coming out from behind the screen. 

Sansa laid curled up on her side, hugging the edge of the bed.

I quickly cleaned my clothes in the remaining water, wrung them out, and hung them to dry. 

I hesitated, wrapped in the damp linens. I didn't relish the thought of sleeping in damp things, and where exactly was I going to sleep? I couldn't share the bed with Sansa.

As if sensing my dilemma, Sansa raised her head a bit from under the bed covers. 

"I put my linen on the back of the chair to dry. It should be fine for the evening if you'd like to do the same. And before you protest, it is perfectly fine for us both to sleep in the bed. It seems clean enough and is slightly more comfortable than sleeping on the floor."

I tried not to gape at her. She couldn't be serious. Did she honestly intend for us to both sleep, without a stitch of clothing, in the same bed? Was she mad? She had been married before, she should know....

At the thought of that Bolton bastard, I felt my mind steel. I would not even think about touching her. She deserved to be treated like the lady that she was. 

Carefully, I draped my linens along the back of the chair as she had done. I crept over to the bed and slid under the covers, trying to hug the edge as she had done. Though the bed was in fact large enough for us both, it didn't leave a lot of room for moving around. I would have to be diligent, even in sleep, to not move too close to her side. 

I felt her shift and I tensed. Then she settled, without us touching at all. I tried to relax. 

I was very tired, but I knew I wouldn't be doing much sleeping. 

It was going to be a long night.


	11. Chapter 11

I thought I would fall asleep easily, feeling safe in the warm room, with Sandor at my side. But every bit of me was completely aware of the fact that all he had to do was stretch his hand out the slightest bit and he would touch my naked skin.

I moved carefully in the bed, turning to face him. In the dim glow of the firelight, I saw that he was as close to the edge as he could be without falling off. He lay stone still. I wondered if he had already fallen asleep.

I moved again, sliding just a bit closer to him. I felt the warmth radiating from his body. He shifted a bit also, and the bed covering slid a bit off his shoulders. I hid my face down deeper in the covers, my eyes just peeking out, so I could admire his back.So strong, sleek with muscles. The skin was smooth and I saw where a few scars began. He had the back of a life-long soldier, and I found I liked it. Very much.

A jagged scar began at the top of his right shoulder. It looked old, and as if it had been quite a serious injury when it had happened. I reached out and tenderly grazed it with the pads of my fingers. I hated the fact that he had been so hurt, all his life.

He jumped as if my touch had branded him. Practically rolling out of the bed, he managed to stop, and cover his lower half with the bed cover. It left his chest exposed and I tried not to stare. It was very difficult, as he was as well formed in the front as he was in the back.

"I'm sorry," I told him, feeling quite embarrassed at my behavior. I had no right to touch him, as he had claimed he had no right to touch me. I didn't meet his eyes.

"It's all right," he told me, gently.

Ridiculously, I felt tears gather in my eyes. I brushed them away angrily. What was wrong with me? I had cried more in the past two days than I had in months. I wanted to say it was worry for my family and my home, but I knew that wasn't completely true. It was also his kindness towards me. It had affected me more than I cared to admit.

He drew his hand up to my cheek, cradling it. His thumb traced the path of my tears, wiping them away.

I turned my face into his warm, calloused palm and kissed it.

He pulled me into his arms, stopping before we touched completely, staring into my eyes.

"Is this all right?" he asked me, worry very apparent upon his face.

"Yes." I told him, holding his gaze.

Whatever he saw in my eyes seemed to break his restraint. He pulled me in close, and suddenly all the barriers, real and imagined, were gone.

His lips found mine. Slowly, deeply, he kissed me until I felt as if I had melted into him. His hand ghosted my side, sliding around to my back and suddenly I was underneath him. He raised himself up, gazing at me.

"Sansa," he said thickly. His eyes lingered upon my body, making me feel suddenly shy. I shifted slightly trying to hide underneath him.

He stilled me, his large hands stroking my shoulder.

"You are so damned beautiful," he told me. "Gods, Sansa...." he trailed his hand down my body, sending very pleasant waves all over me.

His bent his head down, trailing kisses on my neck and collarbone. I moaned, my hands instinctively came up to stroke his back. I allowed myself to stroke his broad form, my nails grazing his shoulders, sliding slowly up his neck, my fingers ending up tangled in his hair.

He seemed to like me touching him. He growled and lowered his mouth to my breasts, kissing them tenderly. His lips grazed my nipple, and I gave a moan of pleasure. He opened his mouth and a stab of pure lust went through me as the wet heat of his tongue lapped, slowly. Unable to contain myself, I let out a gasp. My hands gripped his hair even tighter and I felt my back arch, silently begging for more. He obliged me by repeating his licking on the other breast, lazily, and pulling the other nipple gently with his lips.

I tugged him up to my mouth, kissing him fully. Sitting up to bring him even closer to me, he pulled me into his lap, carefully avoiding his manhood. I stroked his strong chest, his flat stomach, stopping at his erection. It was alarmingly big. As I tentatively touched it, he groaned into my mouth. Suddenly inspired, I gave him one last lingering kiss then moved my lips to his neck as he had done to me. I pressed my lips into his skin, moving down towards his chest. He tasted of salt and leather. I felt very inexperienced as I placed a kiss upon his chest, hoping I was doing this correctly. He let out a very reassuring groan, hands tightening in my hair. Emboldened by this encouragement, I went even lower. His chest, his stomach... I would have kept going, but he stopped me, tugging me back up to him. He kissed me and laid a hand on my thigh, letting it slide slowly up to my woman's place. His fingers grazed the cleft, ever so carefully and I sighed, feeling as if I was finally close to some elusive feeling that I had been on the brink of since we first touched. His fingers began to stroke me, sending sparks flying down my thighs. Finally, he slipped one finger inside me.

"Sandor," I moaned softly, as he began to stroke me gently. His lips stayed on mine as he slowly increased his rhythm and pressure. I felt my hips begin to move along with his hand, and to my surprise I felt wetness gather on the inside of my thighs.

"Oh," I gasped, torn between embarrassment and desire. "I'm getting... I'm wet."

He gave a rasp of a chuckle.

"Yes, beautiful girl." He kissed me and rested his forehead against mine, as his hands seeming to be everywhere at once. I straddled him, and he gasped. "Sansa..."

He gripped my hips and raised me up to him. I felt his manhood press against me.

He paused and I climbed closer, feeling him pressing more insistently at my opening.

Still, he hesitated, telling me "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

"Sandor," I said, as I stroked my fingers over his lips slowly, "I want this. I want you. Please."

He needed no further encouragement. Positioning me slowly upon him, his hips moved up, until he was inside me.

For a breathless moment we were both still. I felt myself stretching slightly, but not uncomfortably, as he filled me.

Then he began to move.

He thrust in unhurried motions, though he seemed to keep a tight grip on his self control. Watching me out of half shut eyes, he slowly quickened his tempo.

It felt...good. I began to move atop him and the sweetest friction occured, making it feel even better. He was fully inside me now, and I moved, clumsily, but determined, as I felt an aching pressure increase.

"Sansa," he gasped, falling back, allowing me to take him even deeper into me. It was heavenly.

His hands came up to idly stroke my breasts, as he laid back watching me with a blissful look upon his face.

I felt both powerful and vulnerable, my body completely exposed to him as he allowed me to ride him at my own pace. Driven by a need I couldn't quite explain, I went faster and faster.

"I can't," I gasped, as my desire warred with my rapidly waning energy. I was so close...

He grabbed my hips and with one fluid movement, laid me down.

"You don't need to", he murmured. "I can. Let me...."

"Yes" I whispered. 

His lips met mine and he gently spread my legs apart.

To my surprise he slid down the length of my body, grazing his lips against my breasts and belly.

Reaching the junction of my thighs, he placed a kiss there too.

With a thrill of longing, I stilled under him.It was probably indecent, what he was doing, but I didn't care. Because his tongue replaced his lips and I was soon lost to anything but his strong lips and silky tongue on me.

I felt the tension grow and grow. Bringing his hand up, he gently parted my folds and softly stroked a spot that sent me into gasps of delight. Soon, his hand and tongue were in one accord and I was practically sobbing in ecstasy.

It didn't take long before my body seemed to open up and feel lighter than it ever had. To my delight, wave after wave of pleasure crashed upon me.

I gripped his hair in my hands, distantly hoping I didn't hurt him. I felt the tension release as I rode out my pleasure, crying out Sandor's name.

After a moment, Sandor one last tender kiss on the place he had so thoroughly pleasured, and drew himself back up to me.

I relished the feeling of his body against mine. He was careful not to lower his full weight upon me, which meant I was able to stroke him as I pleased, enjoying the feel of his firm, smooth skin. He had knobby scars in some places, he was smooth and supple in others.

He watched me with an almost pained look as I touched him.

"You're....so.... Well, you're gorgeous, Sandor." I said in a hushed voice, trailing my fingers up to his cheeks as I kisses him tenderly.

He broke away the kiss and frowned as he turned his head away, hiding the scarred side of his face.

I wasn't having that.

"Sandor," I said firmly, turning his face back to me gently. "You are the most desirable man I have ever seen. And I would really love for you to kiss me and let me keep touching you."

He lost a bit of his guarded look, but his eyes still looked wary. Feeling my heart break a little, I held him close, kissing his scarred cheek gently and stroking his hair.

I opened my legs and pulled him to me. He entered me in one stroke. My fingers gripped his back, and I arched under him, lost in the sensation of him moving on top of me.

His pace quickened and I felt myself ready to come apart from the pleasure.

"Sansa", he moaned, "I'm about to come."

"Yes," I urged him, gripping his arms as my release came upon me. "Yes, Sandor, come."

He kissed me and gave several more furious thrusts as I broke apart too, moaning into his mouth. Then he gave a hoarse cry and I felt him flood me. I wrapped my legs around his waist, gasping at the sensation of his release, deep inside me.

I had never, ever imagined that lovemaking could be like this.

Exhausted, I kissed him and stroked his damp back, feeling unbelievably sated and content.

He studied my face, his head on the pillow beside me, as I lay on my back and continued to trail my fingers up and down his back.

"I came inside you," he finally said, sounding awed.

I laughed. "You did." I replied, rolling over to face him. "I felt it" I whispered, kissing him. "I still do, actually."

He gave me half a smile and tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear, toying with the strand for a moment, looking nervous.

"Aren't you afraid...."

I smiled. "Are you?" I asked.

He said nothing, still looking very anxious.

"If we survive the war, I will want you more than ever. I will want you and ten of your babies, Sandor Clegane."

His hand stilled upon my hair.

I began to feel uncertain at his silence grew.

"If you'll have me, that is" I added, trying to sound lighthearted and failing miserably.

He pulled me close, resting his scarred cheek upon mine.

"Aye, I think I'd still have you," he said softly in my ear. I pulled away to look at him. He was smiling.

I kissed him happily.

We fell asleep in each others arms, and the bad dreams stayed away from both of us once again.


	12. Chapter 12

-Sandor-

 

The morning light had barely started to flow in when I woke up, early, as habit warranted. The fire was all but out, I could see from my view on the bed, and the room had grown a bit chilly. But I was plenty warm, laying with the most beautiful creature in the Seven Kingdoms. For once,  I didn't plan on moving anytime soon.

Sansa still slept, her head on my chest, her leg flung around me possessively. Her glorious hair spilled across the pillow, made sparkly by the streaks of light sneaking in the window. I shifted slightly to try to see more of her, and I felt her arms tighten around me, even in her sleep. For several moments, I lay there, contemplating all that had happened last night.

Had she really said she wanted me, and my babies?

Gods, babies.

I had, of course, thought on occasion about what it would be like to have a wife, and children. Someone to love and care for, someone to have a home with. Children to protect and cherish....the thought staggered me.

As I watched Sansa sleep, I wondered.... Would she want to be a wife again? To me, no less. The thought was as terrifying as it was exhilarating.

Love was something else to me entirely, something that I had learned to live without for most of my life. I had learned to be useful, to be feared. I'd learned to use my size and strength, my appearance, to build a fearsome reputation. In turn, nobody cared to know about my thoughts, nobody questioned my actions, and I was safe behind the shield of being The Hound. Not exactly a pleasant life, but it could have been far worse for the likes of me.

I had never truly expected to take a wife. A wife, a woman who would not cringe away from the sight of my scars and size. One who might, possibly, love me past the flaws. In return, there would be nothing I wouldn't do for her. I would kill for her, give her the world if she asked.

Sansa began to stir. She was definitely that kind of woman.

I smiled into her hair, and nuzzled her. She opened her blue eyes, and smiled up at me.

"Hello", I said, kissing her cheek.

She gave me a sweet kiss in return and stretched slowly.

Feeling a curious contentment, I watched her, feeling the delicious sensation of her body up against mine.

"Good morning", she said, still smiling. Leaning up on her arm, she turned to face me, kissing me again.

"Mmmm" I responded, burying my face into her neck, my hands already very busy.

"Sandor," she laughed, as she gave a halfhearted attempt to swat me away. "What will the innkeeper think if we're in bed all morning?" Her voice broke on a groan as my mouth found a sweet spot. Her hands threaded in my hair. Drunk on her, I kept at it until what she said finally registered. I left the very enticing peak of a rosy nipple and lifted my head up to stare at her.

"All morning?" I responded, trying not to laugh. "You'll kill me."

Breathlessly, she laughed and pulled me back down to her impatiently. "Impossible," she said. You're mine and I aim to take very good care of you."

I hid a smile.

"I suppose he will think we are a newly married couple", I said against her skin, "who are learning the finer points of love making."

We didn't come down from our room until nearly midday.

*******************

After washing ourselves quickly and dressing, we gathered the linens from the room and bought them down to be washed. The innkeeper was downstairs at his books, and I made to head his way, to see if he might need anything else for the day. I had planned to see if he would take labor in exchange for one more night in the inn. Although it was unlikely, it couldn't hurt to ask, I decided. 

He turned his head up as he heard me approach. Sansa hung back, playing the part of a meek little wife very well.

Smiling, he greeted me. "Tavner", he said happily. "Come meet my boys".

As I came around the corner, I noticed three young men sitting by the fire, looking exhausted and rumpled, but apparently very happy to be home. 

Trying a new approach, which was an attempt to be pleasant, I gave them a nod. "Hello".

They stared at me a moment, expressions frozen. I was familiar with that reaction, so I gave them a moment to stare.  Then I turned to the innkeeper. 

"I just wanted to let you know that we are going to be on our way shortly. I wanted to thank you for your hospitality. We will clean these linens and hang them before we go." There was no need to stay on with three capable men here. I also didn't like the way two of them kept looking at Sansa

"Oh, no. You must stay," he said quickly. "A war is coming. That's why my sons are home. There are dragons, Tavner. My boys saw them. They destroyed much of the land and holdings north of here".

Sansa had slowly drawn closer to my side. She placed her hand upon my arm and grasped it. Tucking her hand into my elbow, I turned to the three boys. "How bad was it?" I asked bluntly. 

"Lots of burning," said the one who appeared to be the youngest. "They said it was the only way to destroy the dead army." 

"Winterfell did burn quite a bit," said the boy who appeared to be the oldest. "Some soldiers, good ones, are missing still. It's strange", he added, glancing briefly toward Sansa. "Seems the ladies of Winterfell are as well."

Fuck. He knew exactly who we were. I wondered if he had been sent back and instructed to look for Sansa and her remaining family. By who, I would have to know who sent them. I couldn't quite ask in the present company. The old man didn't need to see any unpleasant business, if it came to that. 

"The king of the North," asked Sansa. "Did you see him?"

"Aye" said the youngest. "He was following the dead army with the remainder of his forces. They have two dragons. Said they had three but the Night King's army took one from them. He has sent all the others, from here to Riverrun, back to their homes. Seems he might not know where they'll strike next." 

"It would seem that we have preparations to attend to," I told them. A plan was beginning to form in my mind. As if she could hear my thoughts, Sansa gave me a sidelong glance, frowning slightly. 

"What did you have in mind?" asked the son who hadn't spoken yet. I supposed that I was going to have to learn these men's names after all. I would need to learn a few important things about them, truth be told. 

"Well, for one thing, we need to have posts on the perimeters of the village". I said. "If you're wanting to avoid an attack, it helps to be able to see it coming. Another thing, if fire kills them, plenty must be ready at all times. How many able men are available in the village?"

"Not as many as we might need," the youngest confessed. "It's a small village".

Well, we better get to work, I told them. If they haven't been this way yet, it could only be a matter of time. The luckiest thing would be that they avoid this area completely. However, you must always prepare as if you know an attack could occur at any moment."

"Who are you?" the oldest asked with a frown. 

"A soldier," I answered honestly. 

"Good", said the old man. "That is exactly what we need". 

A little while later, Sansa and I went back upstairs with fresh water and wood. She appeared to be deep in thought as she helped me unroll fresh linen. We had washed the other linens at the stream. Hanging them in the kitchen, we ate something and listened to the man talk to his sons in the front room. 

"Listen to me", I told her lowly, making a show of loudly cleaning our bowls in the tub of water. "The older son, he knows that we are not who we say we are. I want to keep you safe, that's the most important thing. I am going to teach you some things with the knife later, after we go upstairs for the evening. Try not to be alone with any of those men out there. And make sure you carry a weapon with you at all times. We will slip upstairs in a moment and I will make sure we find a place for you to keep it on you."

Sansa was pale but nodded calmly, listening to me. At least, she was listening for now. My brave little bird was getting restless. I could see it as well as feel it.

She wanted to go back to Winterfell, as soon as possible. 

 


	13. Chapter 13

-Sansa-

I sat by the kitchen hearth, waiting for a pot of stew to finish cooking, as I continued to sew curtains. I would be very happy to never look at another curtain again. The innkeeper's late wife had designed them, all the curtains in the inn, he told me proudly. I had smiled demurely and told him she had very good taste.  Although they really were lovely, with intricate details and fine stitches, they were quite old and threadbare in some places. It was very difficult to mend them without causing more tears in the most worn spots. I'd had to work slowly and carefully. No sooner had I brought a newly mended pair to hang, he would give me two more pairs. I sighed, fingers cramping on my little stool in the kitchen, thankful that at least the inn was on the small side. Surely there weren't that many curtains left to repair. 

Stop that, I admonished myself. You are fortunate to be shown enough kindness to do these tasks for room and board. I shuddered to imagine the horrible places where we might have found ourselves, had we not found this place. 

The kitchen door opened, letting a frigid breeze in, as the youngest son walked in. 

"My lady," he nodded at me as he came to stand by the fire, holding his hands out at the heat. 

"Good evening, Caysen." I replied politely, going back to my stitches.

Over the course of the last week, we had began to eat dinner with the innkeeper and his sons, at the innkeeper's insistence. We had discovered that the innkeeper was simply called by his surname, Vikary. The boys' names were made known to us, as well; Caysen was the youngest, the most congenial, and the one who wanted to leave the village to be a soldier. He wanted to see the world, he explained. He would work for whomever paid him well for his services, and his services were not going to be cheap, he said. 

Sandor had said Caysen was the best in the training he had quickly thrown together, and Sandor was not one for idle compliments.

"A sellsword, more like." Sandor muttered under his breath at Caysen's youthful arrogance as he recounted the days training, teasing about how he might have to increase his price, as his skill increased in like.

I fought back a grin. We had both become fond of the boy.  

"Does you no good to see the world if you die in battle before you see much at all" his Vikary told him. 

Caysen gave him a rueful grin. "Perhaps I will meet a lovely girl in one of these places and marry her, as you did, Father."

"Bah" said Vikary, though he smiled. 

Aran was the middle child, who looked to be around Arya's age. He was quiet, somewhat shy, but very well-mannered. He mainly helped his father at the inn. He was an excellent builder, his father had boasted, who had a talent for woodwork. He sometimes help construct wooden holdings for others in the village, which brought in money for his family. He had been working on a stable at the home of a family with a girl whom Vikary enjoyed gently teasing his second eldest son about. 

"Such a beauty she is. I did notice her trying to catch your eye when she came along, when her father visited to ask for the stable. Tell me Lady Tavner," Vikary said thoughtfully, "why does a lovely girl, who is coming upon her sixteenth name day, care about a stable for pigs and horses?"

I smiled and looked down at my plate.

"Perhaps she is making sure that the building is constructed soundly. Since she is a maid of sixteen and has no marriageable prospects, perhaps she plans to inherit the farm and live out as the old maid of the village."

This came from the oldest, Dontyn. 

Everyone looked at him in surprise. He appeared to be speaking in jest. He smiled and winked at Aran. However, there was something a bit cruel in his tone. 

After a beat, Aran, Caysen, and his father gave uneasy chuckles.

"Sixteen is hardly an old maid, son." said Vikary, gently. 

"I know father," said Dontyn, in a slightly irritated tone. "I was simply making a jape to save my dear brother from embarrassment, in front of our guests."

He popped a bite of stew into his mouth and chewed delicately, placing a thoughtful finger on his chin. 

"Lady Tavner, I must say your rabbit stew is truly remarkable. It seems that you've been in the practice of making it your whole life! Of course, you're no old maid, so that cannot have been very long. There was no danger of that happening, was there?" he winked at Sandor. 

I swallowed and turned my eyes down to the bowl in front of me. I resisted the urge to glance at Sandor. I felt him tense at my side, even though he showed no outward reaction. 

"Nay," he said in a level voice. "it is me who is an old codger, saved by Lady Tavner."

Chuckles came from all around the table. 

I glanced up from my bowl, hoping the moment had passed. Sure enough, Caysen brought up something to do with training and preparations. I ate quietly, ready for the meal to be over. 

I felt eyes on me but I refused to look up. I knew it was Dontyn. 

Sure enough, I glanced up to see him watching me. He met my eyes and smirked, giving me a wink. 

I felt dread coil tightly in my belly. 

I hoped that Sandor would assign Dontyn a post on the furthest edge of the village, quite soon.  

 

Later that evening, Sandor pulled me toward him before we had even reached the bed,  unwrapping the cloth that he insisted I keep tied around my hair. 

Feeling my hesitation, he frowned and cupped my cheek and gently tilted my face up until he caught my eyes. I didn't want to worry him, because I knew he was busy securing the village and training with the men. He spent time with Dontyn, he should be able to tell the measure of his character by now. I pressed my lips together, torn between what I knew and what I could be imagining.

Sandor said nothing, just gave me a tender, concerned look that tended to melt my resolve. 

I sighed, giving in. "Dontyn" I began, unable to fully articulate how uneasy Vikary's eldest son made me feel. 

"I don't like him, Sandor. Something about him... " I trailed off, plucking at my skirts nervously. "I don't feel that we are safe around him."

Sandor kissed me tenderly and pulled me to him. Wrapping my arms around him,  **** ****I laid my head on his chest, relishing the safe feeling of being in his arms. His large hands stroked my back, and I tried to relax. But my worry was too strong.

Leaning back slightly, I looked up into his eyes. 

"I truly think he is dangerous," I insisted. "I don't know what his game is, but he is playing at something. He's..." I didn't want to say it aloud. The type of men he reminded me of, the type of men I held no fond memories for. 

"He's a cunt." Sandor says bluntly. 

"Sandor," I admonished. 

"He's a cunt. He speaks in veiled words, baits us with his double meanings. Do you honestly think I don't know how he is making you feel? I know you're troubled, Sansa. And I don't intend to keep us here any longer than necessary."

I said nothing. I had know too many men like Dontyn. Arrogant, conniving....they usually were also ambitious to a dangerous degree. It turned my stomach.

"Forget him." Sandor said lifting me to him. He cast off my head covering, and started to unlace my worn gown. It was becoming threadbare, intended for riding but not for wearing day after day. 

Self-consciously, I hid the worst of the spots on the gown as he removed it. 

"Don't", he said, stroking my arms and gently pulling my hands away. "you are beautiful. There is no gown," he tugged my small clothes away next. "That can compare to this."

I stood completely nude before him. He drank me in, his eyes traveling all over my body. The evidence of his arousal grew very apparent in his breeches. Impatiently, he began to unlace them. 

"Let me," I murmured, reaching for them. I started at his waist and let my fingers tug them until they fell around his ankles. I dropped to my knees, placing my hands lightly on his hips. Leaning forward, I let his manhood graze my lips. 

He let out a soft, strangled sound. 

Smiling to myself, I held him in my hand, placing soft kisses up and down the shaft of it. Then, reaching the tip, I took a tentative lick. Then another one, letting my tongue stroke his entire length. 

He groaned, twisting his hands into my hair. 

I opened my mouth to taste him thoroughly. I drew him in as far as I could, feeling the silky steel of him with my lips, my tongue. I reached the end and moved back up quickly, sucking tightly, enjoying this new way of feeling him, of pleasuring him. 

He was panting in earnest now, fingers tangled in my hair. I looked up at him and saw that he was watching me with hooded eyes, his face a mixture of agony and delight. 

I moved again and again on him until, without warning, he pulled me into his arms and carried me to the bed. I wrapped my legs around his trim waist as he laid me down carefully. Reaching up to remove his tunic in one quick motion, he pressed against me in the way I loved. Skin on skin, the scent of him all around me, his lips on mine. I wanted him all over me, in a primal sense. I wanted everyone to know that I belonged to him, and he to me. 

His hands stroked me slowly, expertly. He claimed to be limited in his lovemaking experience, but to my thinking, his touches said otherwise. The thought of him taking pleasure with another woman made me feel crazed with jealousy. 

Mine, I thought savagely, digging my nails into him.  

His kiss deepened as my hips frantically sought his.

"Slow down, little bird." he said,  half groaning, half chuckling. 

"Sandor....I need you...  _please_." I would have been ashamed to hear myself beg under any other circumstances, but right now I was beyond caring. 

With a soft moan, he positioned himself above me and drove in, deeply.

My breath hissed out as I lifted my hips to take him even further in me. 

He pumped hard and fast, much harder and faster than his usual slow and gentle pace. I found I didn't mind much. In fact, I found that I was actively enjoying this new, uninhibited side of Sandor. He clutched me, nipping at my neck, skin slapping on skin.

"Sandor...so good....." any intelligible words left me as he drove into me without mercy. The harder he thrust, the closer I came to feeling a clenching sensation, which meant I was coming to the highest peak of our pleasure. 

"Sansa..." Sandor warned, his voice a soft growl. 

"Yes, Sandor, yes...." I held him close to me. He still told me, each and every time, before he found his release. Asking for my permission, before he lost all control. 

I knew it was a dangerous game we were playing but I didn't want to stop. I would not regret anything Sandor and I shared, made in these rapturous moments. I groaned out and felt myself grip him tightly as I found my pleasure.

With teeth clenched against a strangled curse, Sandor gave his final thrusts. His large frame stilled after a moment and he rolled onto his back. I curled against his side and he pulled me in for a kiss. 

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked in a worried tone. 

"You could never hurt me." I told him simply. I meant it too. He was fearfully made, large and powerful, but I had never felt anything but safe and content when I was with him. 

He smiled and cradled me to him. We shared soft kisses, as I relaxed into his embrace.  

We had just began to drift off to sleep when I heard a loud cry in the night. 

I sat up straight, stirring Sandor who opened his eyes wide and sat up in alarm.

The cry was heard again, this time closer. 

A thumping knock sounded at our door. It was Caysen, from the sound of his voice.

"Fire! The village is on fire!" 

Sandor and I looked at each other only a moment. Then we both hurriedly pulled out clothes on, out the door in a hasty departure.

The village was indeed on fire. 

It raged all around us, buildings covered in flames. People were screaming and shouting, frantically trying to save themselves and each other. Others fought to douse the flames in buckets of water and snow. The air was acrid with smoke and I whirled in a circle, trying to make sense of something, wondering what I should do first. 

Then a rider broke through the haze and headed straight for us. 

Sandor noticed him and tried to hurry to my side. 

The rider grabbed me and picked me up. I fought him like a wild thing, biting, scratching, hitting, twisting myself all around to break free. 

"Sandor!" I shrieked, trying to find him as the rider held on with an inhuman strength and continued to ride away. The scenery bounced along with each movement of the horse, and I tried to gasp for air, opening my mouth to scream again. 

Something hit hard, atop my head. Then everything was black and silent. 

 

* * *

  * * * *




 


	14. Chapter 14

-Sandor-

Damn, damn, damn. 

I ran my hand down my hair and face. Each moment was a sickening torment. Not knowing where Sansa was, not knowing if she was unharmed, every heartbeat reminded me of it. 

After the rider had flew in and clutched her in his grasp, I'd grabbed the first horse I had come across and rode hard, straight after them. It hadn't been too hard to catch up at first, nobody else had been atop a horse holding a girl with red hair that gleamed in the light of the flames. I had caught up to them quickly, feeling my heart drop as I noticed Sansa across the lap of the rider, too still to be conscious. A quickening urge to kill fired my blood, and I rode on with vengeance. As soon as I had reached the flank of that fucker's horse, it was turned sharply to the right, causing me to grasp at air, nearly falling off my saddle. Cursing soundly, I righted myself, continuing on the path of the rider as he headed straight into the woods. I arrived just behind him, so I thought, but the stillness and silence was making it seem otherwise. I heard no indication of anyone, not even a snicker of a horse, not a soft snap of a twig or a rustle of leaves, to give an idea of which direction they'd continued on. 

I slid as quietly as I was able to off my borrowed horse and padded on silent feet, half blinded by the dark but stubbornly searching the woods, behind every tree and hidden areas until the sun came up and light began to thread through the trees. Blood roared in my head and my eyes felt like desert sand. I'd searched for tracks everywhere, even the path leading to and from the village. No disturbances met my sight. I had the insane urge to sit down with my head in my hands and howl. 

Standing up, I stared at the sky. Where was she? 

Where are you....where are you little bird? It echoed in my head silently.

I couldn't bear losing her. 

This was my own fucking fault. I hadn't been quick enough. I had grown complacent, living a lie as I worked at an inn that wasn't my own, making love to a woman who I couldn't truly call my own. 

Yet.

Fighting against the rising of a helpless sort of feeling, I turned back toward the village. I was going to find her. If anyone could find her, it would be me. I could feel her on my skin still. I wasn't a praying man, but a silent prayer was upon my lips, asking the gods to keep her safe. I needed to figure out if anyone had noticed the rider, who they were, or where they might have gone. Someone, somewhere had to know something. It was only a matter of getting them to talk. 

As I rode back into the village, Caysen was the first person I recognized. 

"Tavner!" he shouted. 

I dismounted, leading the horse by the reins towards him. 

He hurried toward me, his face a mess of ash and what appeared to be streaks of blood. 

"Your father and brothers?" I asked.

"They're fine. They're helping sort through the wreckage of the fire. It's strange, it only burned the northern part of the village....the southern most area is untouched. The inn is fine. It's quite crowded at the moment."

He paused to wipe his brow. Looking at me, he frowned. 

"Lady Tavner....she isn't at the inn."

I felt my heart sink even lower, which I hadn't thought possible. I had hoped beyond all reason that I would head back to the inn, and there Sansa would be; waiting for me, rushing into my arms, safe from harm. 

"I need to ask some folks some questions." I told him briskly, leading the horse toward the closest barn still standing. 

"Aye," said Caysen. "I expect that you might."

I headed for the inn, Caysen quickening his pace to walk alongside me. 

 

Several hours later, I was no closer in my endeavor of finding Sansa.  
The inn had been packed with bodies, folks who had lost their homes and businesses to the fire. Tavner, his sons, and others who weren't ill or injured, hurried about trying to come up with the necessities for housing a large portion of the village. By evening everyone had a place to stay, and I had questioned all of them. 

Dontyn was busy, his face drawn and serious. Aran fetched food and water, between comforting a girl about his age who had lost her family in the fire. She wept even harder when I asked her about Sansa. Aran held her, stroking her back awkwardly as she wept into his shirt. 

As the evening began to come to a close, Aran followed me outside. I was carrying a small pack. All I needed was a few rations and my weapons.

Aran arrived, also with a pack. 

"What are you doing?" I asked him as I readied the horse I had borrowed by negotiation. I had chopped several bundles of wood and trapped some small game for the villagers that afternoon. 

"I will go with you to find her. These fires," he said glancing back toward the village. "they were not caused by dragons. Had they been caused by dragons, they would have burned topside to bottom." he paused, looking around again quickly and lowering his tone. "it had to have been a person. This I know. I spend a lot of time with wood and buildings. See how there are darker spots on each burnt holding? That's where the fire was set, by someone touching fire to them.... Someone did this, and someone took your wife. Whoever did it, they must be stopped."

I looked at him for a few moments. I don't think I had ever heard him speak more than a few words at a time until now. 

He gazed back at me expectantly. 

I sighed. "Does your father know?"

"Aye, he responded. Only my father. Caysen doesn't know. He'd want to come and he is needed here. Dontyn," Aran swallowed, glancing up at me uneasily. "Dontyn needs to stay here as well."

"Very well," I said. "Let's be off." I was done fucking around. Every second that passed was time I needed to be looking for Sansa. If I had to have company, well, I could do a lot worse than Aran.

We had no sooner mounted and prepared to be off, when I saw the girl Aran had been comforting earlier slip out. Without a word, she stepped on light quick feet over to him. She pulled him towards her and kissed him soundly. 

I looked away, clearing my throat. 

She whispered something in his ear and hurried back into the inn. 

The tips of Aran's ears were reddened as he tried to return to our task, quickly. "Let's be off then." he said gruffly. 

We circled the village first, under pretense of assessing the damage and checking for ideas of who had set the fire. I kept an eye out, attempting to see of we were being followed. 

After we completed the perimeter, we had gotten an eyeful of the most extensive damage. 

I was also certain we were being followed.

The rider had been very quiet so far, but the occasional slip of hoof that didn't belong to our horses had sounded throughout the clearings. I hopped down in pretense of showing Aran a particular piece of nothing, in very close quarters. 

"Do not react." I told him quietly, "We are being followed".

He kept his eyes on the ground, never even flinching. 

"I am going to lead them to the woods. We can trap them if you do all that I say, when I say to do it."

He nodded. "Yes, very good." he said clearly.

We mounted the horses after a briefly convening amongst the rubble and ashes. 

Aran had a dagger in his sleeve, thanks to some careful digging and a sleight of hand in the ashes. 

Of course, it wasn't my best one. And I made him ride in front of me.  
I didn't distrust Aran, but I didn't fully trust him yet, either. 

Once we reached the woods, I dismounted. I walked to the stream, standing alone. 

Sure enough, a thunderous galloping sounded behind me. 

Aran shouted and I turned at the last moment, drawing my sword. 

Suddenly both the rider and I stopped. I felt my sword lower in surprise as the rider and I surveyed each other warily.

Vikary, sitting atop a giant black steed, his sword raised high. 

"Clegane", he said, his voice strong, hateful as he stared down at me, smiling coldly. 

"What the fuck?" I murmured.

"Father...? " Aran croaked, seemingly as surprised as I was. 

"Go home, Aran." Vikary told him, in his familiar cheerful tone. "Go home, son. I'll take care of this".

"Take care of what?" I snapped, my initial shock replaced by anger.

"Oh, Clegane," Vikary said gently. "Where do I even begin?"

"Father," Aran said again, coming closer to me. 

"Aran", Vikary said clearly. "Go. Home."

Aran didn't move. 

"Now!!" Vikary roared. 

With a final look at me, Aran took off the direction towards the village. 

"Now" said Vikary. "Let's talk".


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings- there are mentions of violence and non-con in this chapter. I only want to give fair warning before anyone proceeds.

-Sansa-

 _Drip_... _Drip_... _Drip_... 

 

I felt myself come to consciousness, very slowly. Light and dark warred with each other and I felt the overwhelming sense of terror invade my thoughts. I wasn't safe.

_Sandor...where was Sandor?_

I tried to breath but something was stuffed into my mouth. My head hurt, and I was cold. My limbs were stiff. I knew, through some sort of instinct, not to move too quickly.

I quietly surveyed my surroundings. It was dark, save for the cracks in the walls that allowed some light in. There was a slow dripping sound, of water perhaps, nearby. I lay on my back. My limbs appeared to be loose, and I wondered why they'd gagged me but not tied me. 

Experimentally, I tried to move my hands. That's when I felt the rope graze my skin. To my horror, I discovered that I had been tied. Each arm and leg appeared to be attached to some sort of post, securely and with just enough slack to lift them fractionally. I could move my limbs, just not very far....why was I tied this way?

Tears pricked my eyes. This could mean nothing good. 

Suddenly, rustling sounds came from above me. I shut my eyes, trying to appear to be unconscious still. 

A dragging noise, then the sound of a person, or persons. 

I tried to retreat into myself, the way I had with Ramsey. It hadn't worked very well then, I'd still felt every hurt, every humiliation. I hoped it would serve me better now. 

"She awake?", a male voice asked lowly 

"Nay. Shouldn't she be by now?" Another voice asked in a worried tone. "If she dies..."

"She ain't dead," said the first voice scornfully. "I made sure of that."

One of them sighed.

"Well, anyway, she's easier to handle while she ain't awake."

It was quiet for a long time after that. 

Unfortunately, my baser needs began to let themselves be known in the quiet. My empty stomach began to protest loudly with growls, much to the amusement of my captors. I also felt another pressing need, and it was all I could do to be still and not squirm in discomfort. 

"No use, lovey" said the brash voiced one called. "We know you're awake."

Reluctantly I opened my eyes. 

Two rough looking men met my sight. They were dressed in drab colors and had a weathered appearance. They reminded me of the sailors we used to see come into port in King's Landing, arriving after a long time at sea. One was tall and broad shouldered, with ha long, thin scar on his cheek. His hair was dark, and his eyes that were so blue they were nearly colorless. The other was smaller in stature but looked much the same as the his counterpart. 

The taller one bowed deeply to me, and said in a mocking tone, "Milady needs the privy does she? Come along then dearie."

He removed the ropes from some sort of posts,  and led me like an animal to a crudely constricted door. I stumbled over the clearing, my skirts getting tangled up in my feet. 

The other man caught me by the elbow. I yanked my arm away, and he scowled. "Careful, my lady." he muttered as we continued on. 

I glanced all around, drinking in my surroundings. So far, I appeared to be in some sort of small cabin, deep in a wooded area. 

Unwrapping the rope from around his arms a few times, the taller man pointed to a small grove of trees

"There you are, milady," he announced grandly. "Just behind those trees, you'll find a golden chamber pot to sit your royal arse upon!" he slapped his leg and laughed merrily. He turned to the other man, who managed a weak smile. He shook his head in annoyance. 

"Go on then, and be quick about it. "

I hurried to the other side of the trees and attended to my needs. Settling my skirts and pulling my hair back, my hand brushed over the scrap of cloth and I froze for a moment. 

Sandor's small dagger. It was still tucked securely in the folds of the cloth and my hair. My heart began to pound as I quickly tried to determine what I should do.  

I reached for it.

"My lady! Are you planning to join us anytime soon? Shall I come escort you, do you think?"

Heart sinking, I called out, "I'm coming," and lowered my hand. 

I would have to figure out a plan, quickly. Hopefully I could do so before they realized I wasn't quite as helpless as they thought. 

I walked back around the trees and was not very surprised to see that a third man had joined them.

It was Dontyn. He smiled as I was led back to the tall man, who quickly wound my rope back up, jerking me toward him with unnecessary roughness. 

"Lady Tavner!" he said cheerfully. "I'm glad to see you are with us once again". 

I said nothing. 

"Oh come now", he said in a ridiculously jovial tone. "No courtesies for your old friend, Dontyn"?

I squared my chin, silently defiant.

"Hmm", he said. "Seems the lady isn't remembering her manners, being without her brute husband keeping her in her place. Perhaps she needs some encouragement?" he asked the men. 

The tall man laughed. The shorter one did not react at all. 

Dontyn grabbed me, pulling me to him. I stiffened, and he kissed me roughly. He placed his hands upon the small of my back, pressing me into his hips. I ground my own against him, attempting to wretch myself free of him, repulsed. 

"That's it", he whispered against my mouth. 

He kissed me again. 

Suddenly, I knew what I was going to do. 

"Take me inside", I whispered breathlessly, fighting back tears.

His eyes glowed warmly as he snatched the rope from the men and hurried me away. We reached the cabin and he slammed the door shut behind us. Turning his attentions to me, he pulled off his breeches and shirt. 

I bit my lips and looked at him from under my eyelashes. I untied my dress and let it fall. My small clothes were next. I slowly walked toward him, unbinding my hair. 

He pulled me to him.

I denied him any further pleasure by slicing my dagger across his throat. 

His eyes flew open, and stared at me blankly, as he gagged silently. I grabbed his shirt to stench the flow of blood, while he clawed helplessly at my hands. 

"Goodbye, Dontyn", I said as he drew his last labored breaths. 

He said nothing else. He never would. 

I took his remaining clothes and dressed him the best I could. I drug him to the furthest corner of the cabin, dressed myself, and waited. 

After what may have been a quarter of an hour, footsteps approached the cabin. 

"Dontyn"? said an uneasy voice. "You know, we don't get paid unless she's unharmed. I know she ain't a virgin but we shouldn't get too carried away, yeah?" 

Confusion touched me slightly as I kept a tensed form, waiting for them to come in. Paid? Paid by whom? 

The door opened and the tall man came in, walking past my crouched form.

I sprang to my feet, driving the dagger into the back of his head. He howled and gripped my arm, yanking it until I heard a loud pop, and felt a searing pain. He staggered to his knees and I grabbed the dagger with my good arm, gripping it in my hand and pulling it out. Then I thrust it again, and he fell over.

The second man came rushing in, staring at the scene in horror.

I stood, my arm on fire, covered in blood, and waited for him to move.

"You've killed my brother", he said in a detached tone. "And Dontyn".

I said nothing.

His eyes found mine. "You're Sansa Stark", he said, as if he had just decided something.

My arm was beginning to pain me badly. I swayed slightly, fighting to keep upright. 

"I'm Daniel Greyjoy", he told me.

Confused, I stared at him. "Theon?" was all I could manage in a warbled voice. 

"Nay. Euron's bastard. He claimed me when he took the Iron Islands. That makes me Theon's cousin, I reckon."

He came closer, and I slashed the dagger wildly, unable to fully make sense of what he'd said. He easily fought off my attack, taking the dagger from me and frowning at my arm.  

"You've dislocated your shoulder" he told me. "Well, Lancel dislocated your shoulder. I can set it if you'd like. Hurts like hell, but it's better than waiting for a Maester. We might not see one for days". 

I dropped to my knees, gritting my teeth. 

He sighed. "All right, here it is". 

He gripped my arm at the base of my shoulder and at my elbow. Before I could even react, he jerked it and I felt an excruciating shift. I screamed, a guttural sound I'd never heard.

 I felt Daniel Greyjoy carefully press the dagger back into my good hand, before I blacked out. 

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

 

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

-Sandor-

Vikary hopped nimbly off his horse and came across the clearing to where I stood.

"So," he said, his arms spread wide, indicating the forest around us. "Here we are! Just you and me. Now we have a proper chat, can't we?"

"Can we?" I asked him. "Sounds like it's going to be you doing a lot of talking"

 

Vikary sighed and shook his head. 

"Tell me, Clegane, did you ever suspect anything? Honestly, while you were upstairs at my inn, in bed with the Lady of Winterfell, did the thought ever occur to you that I made it too easy for you to stay on? That you two are not quite an inconspicuous pair? I wondered about your intentions, Clegane! Even with the other Starks scattered about the lands, you and that ungrateful child sought only your own pleasures. Not once did you leave to search for your kinsman."

He walked the distance between us, swinging his sword as a child with a toy.

"And not once did you suspect a feeble old man of anything but well wishes and good intentions." he said, pausing about ten steps in front of me. 

"Who are you?" I asked. I wondered where the hell Aran had gone. 

"Why, I am Garan Vikary, son of Hollands Vikary."

He bowed deeply. Then he straightened himself and laughed.

"Nobody of importance." he said. "My father was a fisherman, from an insignificant little village a few days ride from here. One year he was having poor takings, as fishermen are oft to do. He had a wife and children at home, hungry, and debtors breathing down his neck. So, one day he took his little boat out further than he should have into the sea, searching for the elusive fish. Not wise, but we have all done unwise things in desperate moments, haven't we?" he smiled kindly at me, still swinging his sword back and forth. 

"A storm came that day, not terribly violent, but on a small boat it doesn't take much for things to turn bad. He was thrown from his boat, and he floated until he was found by a man who took pity upon him instead of letting him drown. Tell me, does the name Greyjoy ring a bell?"

I said nothing. There was no point. 

"He rescued my father. He could have let him continue to float, to meet his death at Sea, but instead he pulled him out of the water. They were coming home from a raid. They had sacked some island, taken just about everything they could carry. Later that day they were attacked. The story goes, my father fought alongside Greyjoy, killing men with his fishing spear instead of a sword. Greyjoy was pleased with him, and returned him home, giving him enough riches to make it through the winter and care for his family. My father swore fealty to him. We all know what happens when you swear fealty, don't we Clegane? Your life is never quite your own again.

"Well, I had a sister. She was very beautiful and Euron Greyjoy, who was with the raiders that day, took a shine to her. She became his mistress until he tired of her. But she did bear him two children. Two boys. Bastards, you know, but now that Euron has taken the Iron Islands, he's claiming them as heirs. For now."

"Euron has decided that Cersei Lannister is more trouble than she is worth. Of course, she is the ideal candidate for marriage, being the current ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, but he has gotten word that she has not learned from her past mistakes. She is pregnant with another of her brother's children. A true King will play second to no man. What can he do? Daenerys Targaryen is beautiful and unmarried, but he doesn't expect to see her rule. Not really. He claims people will want a Stark on the Iron Throne. Not Jon, who isn't a Stark, not truly. Sansa Stark is the obvious choice. She would make a fine Queen. And of course, Euron sees himself as her Lord Husband. He is a very ambitious man, after all. They're both strong and healthy. They'll make a fine pair on that throne. A fine pair."

"So! There is your story. As you've probably gathered, I cannot let you continue to bed Sansa Stark. Dontyn and my boys had traveled to Winterfell to secure her, but it was a piece of good fortune that you brought her to me. My gratitude, Clegane. My boys were kept from harm, you delivered her right to me. You're truly as faithful a Hound as the stories say."

He stepped a little closer. "I am terribly sorry that we must kill you, I hope you know that. You could have been quite useful to have around. But, as with all difficult decisions, I had to weigh the good against the bad. And it's just too risky to let you live. Pity," he sighed. "But that's how it must be."

He raised his sword. 

I raised mine. 

The fight was swift and brutal. Vikary was old, but strong and fast. He was also quite mad. 

He delivered a piercing graze to my thigh. I fell into the stream. As the cold water flowed around me in icy rivulets, he raised his sword high. 

"Dontyn!" he called. "Come out!"

Nothing. 

"Dontyn!" he screamed louder. "Come out, bring the others!"

Still nothing. 

Cursing, he kept his gaze on me. But I'd heard enough. 

I stood, noting with relief that my leg wound was not very deep. I could still stand. He stepped back slightly, keeping a wary eye upon me. 

"Seems Dontyn isn't here." I told him, dripping water from the stream and a bit of blood. "Looks like it's just you and me. Since you talked enough for the both of us, I just have one thing to say."

I lunged at him, feigning left and running my sword through him cleanly.

He dropped to his knees, breath rasping.

"I did not come all this way to be bested by some thieving, fish-smelling fuckers. I'd ask you if you had any last words, but I'm tired of hearing you talk. So goodbye, Vikary. May the gods have mercy on your soul, and mine."

I took his sword from his lifeless body, cleaning it, then mine, thoroughly in the stream. I dried them, then cleaned and dressed my leg wound the best I could. Climbing atop Vikary's horse, I rode it back toward the village.

I hadn't rode far, when Caysen and Aran met me on the trail with a few men from the village. 

"Father...?" asked Aran

I said nothing for a moment. There was just no proper way to do this. Finally, I sighed and said "I'm sorry."

Aran stared at me sadly. Caysen looked as if he wanted to run me through with his sword. He turned his horse and rode angrily past me, into the woods. 

Aran looked down a moment, then back at me. 

"I will go after him. The rest of you, and Clegane, you can go back to the village. Clegane, go to Maester Tolven. He will care for your wound."

He followed Caysen into the woods. 

It was an awkward ride back into the village.

Once we arrived, commotion was all around the inn. 

"What's this?" asked one of the men as we came closer. 

Someone answered, but I didn't hear what they said. 

The crowd had parted, and Sansa stood in the middle of them, beside a stocky dark haired man. 

I gave a low sound of gratitude and all but fell off the horse in my haste to get to her. 


	17. Chapter 17

-Sansa-

I had not expected to wake up in the little village I'd been taken from; but to my great surprise, that was exactly where I found myself. I awoke on a Maester's table, a dark haired man to one side of me, a gray-haired giant in robes to the other side. He reminded me greatly of someone I had known before.

"Hodor?"

The giant shook his head kindly. "Do you know where you are, my lady?"

It wasn't Hodor. I felt my eyes well with tears. I had thought, for just a moment, that I was back in Winterfell.

"Does your arm pain you?" he asked patiently.

"No," I told him. "Should it?"

"You injured your arm, my lady, in the woods. This young man brought you here. He did set it. I wrapped it and gave you milk of the poppy. Perhaps that is part of the confusion." He smiled kindly at me and patted my good arm.

Turning to the dark haired man, the Maester held up a small brown bottle and said "All should be well. Be sure she gets milk of the poppy should her arm pain her; no more than one drop at morning and no more than two at night. Her arm should stay wrapped until the moon harvest. That should be about five days past this day." he turned to place the small bottle in the dark haired man's hand, who frowned.

"Who says I am taking care of her, Maester? I found her, brought her to you. This is all. I'm not a lady's maid."

The Maester sighed. "I have dozens of people here, burnt and wounded, sick from smoke and ash. Forgive me my lady," he said, sparing a glance in my direction. "But the shoulder will be fine, given adequate rest and care. My services are no longer needed, unless her injury troubles her further".

Pressing the bottle into the dark-haired man's hand, he nodded. Turning to me, he said "Come back in five days time. I will unwrap your arm and check the healing." he smiled, patted my head, and strode out of the room, robes swaying silently.

My mind felt thick, like dense fog. I understood that I needed to leave the table. However, my limbs simply wouldn't cooperate. I made an attempt to sit up properly, using my good elbow to push myself up, but my lower half did not follow. I found myself sliding toward the floor. I would have landed squarely on my head, had my rescuer not grabbed my good arm and held me, slowly bringing me back up.

Supporting my back, he helped me to a sitting position and turned me slowly until my feet dangled toward the floor.

"Oh," I said, as my surroundings swam about me. I closed my eyes and swallowed, trying to fight nausea and panic. "I need a moment please, I'm sorry, I know this is terribly improper..."

Taking a shaky breath I opened my eyes. The man gazed back at me, and I was struck by the oddly light coloring of his eyes. I vaguely remembered him, but couldn't think of where.

He shook his head, tugging me until I stood. Slowly, my legs remembered how to walk as he led me to a door. "You'll feel better after a bite to eat," he told me. "Surely we can find someone to spare a bit of bread, at least. Come on."

He opened the door and led me outside. The cold was bracing and helped to clear my head. The man carefully led me to the middle of the village, his hand barely at my back, observing his surroundings. 

Villagers outside cast us curious glances. We were relative strangers to them, and they eyed us distrustfully.

My escort turned his face toward me, his lips at my ear. "What happened here?" he asked quietly, turning to face the curious villagers again. 

My eyes lowered, I barely moved my lips. "There was a fire. The night everything happened...." I felt a frown form between my brows, pieces of that night coming back to me. "Much of the village burnt." I finished softly. 

"More the northern half," he replied, casting a final glance behind me, in pretense of adjusting my arm wrap. I winced as he brushed my sore shoulder. "It doesn't make sense."

Finally, some of the braver villagers began to head toward us. 

"Not much makes sense right now." I told him. 

*********************

Finally the dark haired man, who had reminded me tactfully that his name was Daniel, convinced a baker to give some overcooked pieces of bread. Another supplied a battered tin cup of watered wine. I ate and drank gratefully, finishing my meal in seconds. 

"Thank you." I told them sincerely. I had began to feel a bit of strength return. 

A noise came from just ahead. 

"Riders." said the baker who'd given me bread. He and and some others moved forward to get a closer look. Daniel held me in a firm grasp, staying back.

I saw a few men on horses ride forward. The crowd parted and Sandor Clegane was front and center. Despite his dirty, bedraggled appearance, he was truly one of the most beautiful sights I'd even seen. 

He quickly dismounted and was by me in mere steps. He kissed me and I threw my good arm around him. I didn't plan on letting go for a long while. 

He finally, reluctantly, pulled away. Some of the villagers chuckled. He ignored them, gently examining my arm, pulling my hair back, to examine my face. 

"You're hurt." he said, casting a ferocious glare at Daniel, who did not react at all. 

"I'm fine, it's nothing serious." I assured him. Stroking my hands over his face, I pulled him in for another kiss. As we touched even more closely, I felt him stiffen, almost imperceptibly.

I pulled away, concerned. Then I noticed a dirty, makeshift bandage on his leg. "Oh, Sandor..." I said dismally. "We need to get you to a Maester, right away." I tugged him toward the direction Daniel and I had just come from. 

"I'm all right, little bird." he growled, though a tender look was in his eyes. 

"You're going to the Maester." I told him stubbornly. Pulling him toward me, I said "Then, I am finding you some food, and then," I kissed him again, pulling just enough away to whisper "as soon as our loose ends are sorted, you're taking me to bed."

He kissed me once more and allowed me to guide him to the Maester.

Daniel followed us, looking bemused. 

After the Maester treated Sandor's wound, which he gravely told him would have surely became infected had he not come to him for a poultice and dressing, and we had found someone who'd kindly offered us some bread, scraps of hard cheese and wine, we looked at each other in exhaustion. 

"The inn is full," a man told us. 

"There is a stable just at the end of this lane", said a woman. She shrugged apologetically. "It's clean and warm enough. All the animals ran off. Some turned it into a bit of shelter, and sleep there when there is nowhere else to go."

"That's perfectly fine, thank you," I told the woman. "We need to talk" I hissed in the direction of Daniel. 

Slowly we made our way down the lane. 

We arrived at the stable, and found it clean and dry enough. I herded everyone in, closing the door behind me. I found a lantern, and Sandor lit it with flint, carefully placing it upon a crate near a trough that held a bit of water. We huddled near it; Sandor and Daniel and I, nobody saying anything for a long time. 

Finally, Sandor spoke. 

"Vikary is dead."

With some surprise I took in that information. I had questions but I wasn't comfortable asking them in front of Daniel. 

"Dontyn is dead as well." I responded in kind. 

Sandor looked to Daniel. "I believe we are waiting to hear from you now, Iron Born."

Daniel met his gaze steadily. From the start he'd shown no reaction, no fear, no emotion. It was a bit unnerving, unless one had been previously acquainted with men of that caliber. Then it was simply suspicious. I had suspected he was a sellsword or waiting to kill Sandor and take me when nobody thought to look for me. Neither would have surprised me. 

He looked at Sandor with something akin to surprise. "How did you know I was Iron Born?" he asked. 

"I smell it on you," Sandor replied. 

"It's your eyes", I blurted out. "You have eyes of the Iron Born, a Greyjoy in fact. I should have seen it before."

Sandor looked at me in bewilderment. 

"Oh, here," Daniel said, retrieving the brown bottle from his pocket. He passed it to Sandor. "Your....wife, she is being dosed with milk of the poppy, for her injury."

I glared at him. 

Sandor took it silently, then turned back to Daniel. 

"Tell me how you came to be where you were, in the woods."

*******************

As day turned to evening, and the last of the food was eaten, Sandor insisted that I take my medicine. 

"I don't like the way it makes me feel," I argued. "I need a clear head."

"You will take it, and I will keep watch. You need rest."

Since I didn't feel like arguing that he needed rest as well, I took the drops he gave me. I felt like a child and fought the urge to pout. 

"Sandor," I whispered. "Where is Daniel?"

"He left, to find wood and food." he replied. 

"That's what he said," I responded. "But he's been gone for an awfully long time."

Sandor remained silent. 

"You let him go?" I asked him, staring at him in the dim light. 

"He saved you. Well, he helped you make it back. You saved yourself, the way I see it. At any rate, I am willing to let him go for that reason. For now. And he is willing to let us go for his own reasons. For now."

Sandor kissed me and pulled me to him, on my good side. 

Despite everything, I sighed in contentment. "You're so warm," I murmured. "You're so strong....I missed you, Sandor."

I felt him kiss the crown of my head. "I missed you, little bird. Rest now."

I felt myself drift. In my last hazy thought, I wondered what would become of us now.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is short and sweet. ;)
> 
> (Thank you to everyone who has read, commented, and left kudos. I appreciate you all so much!)

-Sandor-

 

I must have drifted off, because suddenly I awoke and felt a warm tongue against my neck. 

"Mmmm..." said a voice, hands stroking, teeth nipping. 

I half laughed, half groaned. "What do you think you're doing, little bird?"

"You really can't tell?" she asked, her hand creeping into my tunic. She sighed. "It's as if the gods made you from steel," she kissed my neck, "and lightning," another kiss, upon my cheek. "and honey," she finished with a kiss upon my lips that nearly stole my breath. 

I gripped her hips, guiding her onto my lap, mindful of her hurt shoulder. I trailed my fingers through her silky hair and stroked further down, slowly and determinedly, finding all the places that made her moan. She gripped me with her good arm, her hips moving against me. 

I would never, ever tire of this. Her response, her beauty, her warmth. It was as if the gods were smiling upon me, giving me a precious gift that I fully intended to enjoy for as long as it should last. 

I carefully lifted her above me as I shed my breeches quickly and pulled up her skirts. She settled back down as soon as she could, seeking me, the heat between her thighs pressing upon me. 

I fought the urge to drive myself into her right away. I fumbled with the bodice of her gown, unlacing it, letting it fall to expose her soft skin. Her nipples hardened in the cold and I lapped at them, savoring the feel of her smoothness. She gasped and leaned against me, her hand slipping down to grip my head.

Finally, unable to wait any longer, I gripped her backside, fondling and stroking, as I guided her to me. I sank myself into her slowly. She shifted her hips and drove herself down, till I filled her to the hilt. 

I grit my teeth against the sudden onset of feeling her grip around me tightly. She began to move and I protested, my voice sounding feeble to my own ears. "Sansa, wait...I can't last very long like this."

"I don't care," she gasped, relentlessly moving against me, every stroke tugging me further towards the edge. "I don't care, Sandor. I _need_ you." she said as she plunged me in and out of her hot, wet silk.

At that, I began to move as well, trying to hold out through sheer force of will. It didn't take very long until I began to feel her release build. As soon as her moans grew and her walls begin to grip me in climax, I let go, feeling my seed gush forth, filling her.  Wet, smacking sounds filled the stable as I drove into her, my cock twitching. I groaned so loudly the entire village must have heard me. My head fell forward, laying upon her breasts. She gently stroked my hair and moved her hips slowly, my now limp member sliding easily in and out of her. 

"Fuck." I said. Any eloquent speech that I might have captured escaped me now.  

I felt her smile. "You need to rest now" she whispered. She slid off me carefully and began adjusting her clothes. Helping me tug my breeches back up, she laced them while she let her hands linger and kissed me softly.

We leaned up against the wall of the stable, and she carefully tugged my head onto her shoulder.

"Sleep, Sandor," she whispered. "I will wake you if I suspect any danger is nearby."

Despite my hesitance, she insisted that I lean on her, as she stroked my back. 

I fell asleep, quickly and deeply. 

When I awoke, light was beginning to show through the beams of the stable walls. My head was still on her shoulder, her arm still around me. 

I blinked groggily, as I came awake.

"You shouldn't have let me sleep so long, little bird," I admonished her, my hand cupping her face. 

She smiled. "You needed to rest, love." she said softly. 

I felt my heart dip and flutter at her term of endearment. 

She watched me anxiously. 

"You are, you know."

"I am, what?" I asked in confusion.

"My love." she answered shyly, looking down a moment, then back at me. 

I stared at her in disbelief. 

"I love you, Sandor. I think I always have. Now, I have no doubt at all....I do love you. So much "

I felt my breath hitch. Stupid, foolish tears sprang unexpectedly to my eyes, as I blinked them hastily away. I tried to say something, twice. Finally I managed to blurt out the words I had hidden in my heart, locked tightly away since I'd first met her.  

"I love you, Sansa. I always have."

She smiled at me and leaned her forehead against mine. 

I kissed her, undressed her, and slowly made love to her once more, before the day broke and we had to face reality again. 

 


	19. Chapter 19

 

-Sansa-

 

"I hate this," I said. 

Sandor and I were readying to bathe in a large tub that we had found in the charred remains of the village. Sandor had set a trap for small game, as I worked on heating tiny pots of water over a tiny fire. Sandor had undressed me slowly, kissing me as I laughingly protested that I wasn't fit for love making, in my state of filth. Also, my lack of movement in my injured arm was becoming increasingly frustrating. 

"Hmm," Sandor said, pausing and regarding me seriously. "Perhaps I should help you bathe. Your arm," he said, kissing my shoulder tenderly. "You might need my assistance, little bird."

"Perhaps I might," I told him. I allowed my dress to fall and walked over to the tub. I turned to look over my shoulder, thrilling at the look of desire in his eyes.

It took some time, but we managed to fit together in the tub. I leaned back against Sandor, my head laying on his chest. 

"Let me help you," he said, gently dabbing me with a cloth, working around my wrapping. 

I closed my eyes and let him, the heat of his body and the water lulling me into a relaxed state. He cleaned me very thoroughly, starting at my head and working his way down slowly. As the cloth slid against my woman's place, I hissed out a breath. He continued down my legs and gently lifted my legs to reach my toes. Then he worked the cloth back up, much to my delight. 

I turned to face him, a bit breathless. "I don't think I will be able to bathe again without thinking of you," I said. 

He gave me a half smile, the steam from the tub making his skin damp. I traced patterns upon him, my hands unable to keep from going further into the water. He groaned, and I took the cloth from him, washing him as tenderly and thoroughly as he had washed me. 

"Let me wash your hair," he murmured, reaching for a chipped bowl we had also rescued from a rubbish pile. I turned around obediently as he carefully poured water over my head and his strong fingers began to massage my scalp. 

"Oh, that feels wonderful," I sighed. He scrubbed slowly, and rinsed as I let my head fall back even further. 

"Do you know," he said in his rumbling voice, "how beautiful you truly are?"

I felt myself blush, ducking my head. 

He placed his fingers under my chin, smiling and leaned in for a kiss that left me clinging to him. 

"Will I ever stop wanting you like this?" I moaned, pressing myself closer to him. 

"I hope not," he said, standing and taking me with him, his hands cupping my bottom, grabbing a linen to wrap around us. He pressed me up against the stable wall, entering me in one smooth motion.

"Yes," I hissed, wrapping my legs around his waist. I pulled him close to me, as his lips mimicked the motion of his hips. " _Yes_ , Sandor...."

It didn't take long for both of us to come undone.

Still gasping, he carried me back to the tub, reaching for the cloth to clean between my thighs. 

"I made a mess, after you were all clean," he said in apology.

I laughed, dressing myself in my very worn dress. I wrinkled my nose. 

"I would love to have a clean gown," I said. Even if it was made from burlap cloth."

He gave me an odd look. 

"You deserve pretty dresses," he said mildly. "You're much too good for any of this." he indicated all around him with his hand. 

He turned to dress, and I frowned, wondering what exactly he meant by that. 

I decided to say nothing. Caysen and Aran were to meet us in the village. A messenger had arrived earlier to let us know that we were expected at Vikary's Inn by dusk. 

I had worried over it ever since. I felt that nothing good would come of this meeting. We had heard nothing from Caysen or Aran since the day we'd returned. Sandor had said nothing about it, after telling the messenger we would be there. 

I'd tried not speak of it since then. I knew Sandor liked to remain private in many of his thoughts. But I couldn't bear the thought of anything separating Sandor from me. Not now. 

"Stop worrying, little bird." he told me, correctly guessing the reason for my sudden silence.

"I can't help it," I responded. "There is so much to worry over." I tried to give him a wobbly smile, but tears began to gather in my eyes. 

He was beside me in a second. 

"No, don't cry," he murmured, gathering me into his arms. "Sansa. Please."

I sniffed and threw him a brave smile. "I am sorry," I said stiffly. "I just...I wish we could go home."

"Home," he said softly. "Clegane's Keep, or Winterfell?" he gave me a teasing smile. 

"Anywhere but here," I replied. "As long as I am with you."

Dusk came and we left the stable, heading towards the inn. 

I saw no indication of trouble waiting ahead for us. The few villagers we passed remained neutral in their demeanor, some nodding our way politely as we walked past.

At the inn, Sandor knocked then pushed his way inside. 

Caysen and Aran sat by the fire, looking much the same as they did the first day we saw them. Aran nodded at us, but Caysen looked away, staring into the fire. 

"Sit," he said finally, indicating to the seats nearby.

We sat. 

"Everything is in order," Caysen told us, finally looking our way. "We have sold the inn. We burned the bodies of the dead."

Sandor waited expectantly. 

"Aran is marrying, and I am going to Braavos. We have no need to stay here."

"I tell you this," Caysen said. "because we know who you are. We know that if anything should happen to the Lady of Winterfell, we will have the whole of the North upon our backs. We don't want that."

Sandor still remained quiet. 

"So, we decided to do what is right."

"What is right?" I echoed, finding my voice. 

Daniel stepped out from the next room. 

"You must come with me," he told me, not unkindly. 

I stared at him.

"Sandor Clegane is to return to Winterfell. He can do what he set out to do in the first place, protect the north."

"Why would I come with you?" I asked him. 

"I'm taking you to your brother." he said simply. 

"My brother?" I asked.

"Yes, your brother," he replied.

"I'm not going anywhere without Sandor." I told him. 

He looked at me in what might have been pity. 

"Yes, my lady, you must." he replied.  

Then at least a dozen men came out of the next room. All of them Iron Born, all of them fierce looking. 

I felt panic claw its way up my throat. 

Turning to Sandor, I whimpered "Sandor..."

He didn't look at me. 

"Sandor." I said more clearly, confused. Why would he not look at me? 

"Come, my lady." Daniel said, reaching his hand out toward me.

I remained seated, eyes darting wildly around the room, looking for a place to run. 

Daniel came closer, gripping me by my good arm. Though he wasn't rough, he had a firm grasp. 

I twisted and tried to grab out to Sandor. "No!" I shouted, fighting Daniel's grasp. "Sandor, please, say something." I begged, uncaring that I looked wild and not at all like the Lady of Winterfell at that moment. Tears ran unchecked down my face. "Sandor, why won't you look at me?" I dug in my heels.

Sandor finally looked at me, and for just a moment I swore there was sorrow etched upon his face.

But then expression turned steely, and he said calmly, "It's what is best, little bird." 

I stared at him in shock.

"You think that's what is best?" I asked him dully. All the feeling drained from me. 

"Aye," he said, his voice hard. "I do."

"You don't mean that." I told him. 

"I do mean that," he replied. "I've got a job to do and these men do as well." he stood and moved away, turning his back to me. 

I stopped struggling, stopped moving. 

"All right," I said calmly. "All right, Sandor. If you think it best, I have no reason to believe otherwise."

With one last look at him, I turned to follow Daniel, my heart breaking with every step. 

As we left the inn, I heard the sound of something breaking inside. 

I did not turn around. I kept moving.

* * *

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delayed update. That was a major cliffhanger I left you guys with! Sometimes life gets so crazy busy that it's hard to keep up and balance everything well. I hope things start to calm down and I am able to begin writing more regularly again.

 -Sandor-

_Three months later_

During the next several weeks, all that could be heard throughout the forest was the sound of wood. Chopping, sawing, logs crashing, large planks being drug through the trees and into the clearing where Winterfell stood. Or at least, what was left of it. 

When I'd arrived three months past, Winterfell stood in shambles. Half of the holdings were torched from fire. The other half seemed ready to fall at any given moment. The smell of burning still permeated the air. 

I rode in with nothing but the clothes on my back, a dagger and sword, and an aching heart. 

Daniel had been my escort. 

"This is where I leave you, Ser Clegane," he'd told me. "I was to make certain you arrived at Winterfell without incident."

I looked at him for the first time on our journey. 

"If I had wanted to go after her, you and your entire fucking fleet wouldn't have stopped me. I let her go willingly. Because it was right. And I am no Ser."

His normally expressionless face gave the slightest hint of mirth. 

"I would expect nothing less from the Hound. Makes my life a lot easier when you cooperate, though."

I slid off my horse, never taking my eyes off him. "I'd bet it does. Here's something you should know, before you leave. If one hair on Sansa's head is harmed, I will ensure that each and every one of you meets their death by my hand. It won't be pretty or quick, either."

Daniel tugged his horse's reins, turning it in the direction from which we just came. "Again, nothing less than I'd expect from the Hound."

Giving a salute with his fingers, he rode off, without so much as a backward glance. 

Turning toward the burnt remains of the village, I sighed. "All right, here we go." I said, more to myself than the horse. 

It took a week or more, but I managed to gather enough able bodied men to help assist in the rebuilding of Winterfell. Daniel had thoughtfully supplied me with a decent bag of coins and a raven, along with a note he claimed was from Jon Snow. While I had some lingering doubts of that letter's authenticity, I did not doubt that Theon and Asha Greyjoy would care for Sansa on the way to Dragonstone. 

 

After Sansa had left the inn that evening, I had paced the floor in agitation. Trying to calm my thoughts, I'd picked up the very chair I'd repaired our first day there. Tapping it against my thigh, I'd forced myself to school my impulses

It lasted all of three seconds, before my pain and rage erupted and I'd smashed the chair into splinters against my leg.

I was almost ashamed of my childish temper tantrum, until I saw the look upon the faces of the men who remained in the room. Deciding to use their fear to my advantage, I'd scowled fiercely at them.

Then I'd turned to one Greyjoy in particular. One who'd I noticed the moment they'd come in. 

"Sansa may not have recognized it, girl, but I know you're not a man. Who are you?"

"Asha Greyjoy." she had replied. 

I knew then that I had made the right choice. 

 

 

Sansa had sailed with Asha, who'd sworn to protect her. Theon was to rejoin them at Dragonstone. He had freed her from her Euron, who had fled from Kings Landing and made his way, unhindered, to the North. 

Daniel sighed. "He was always mad."

"What stake do you have in this claim?" I'd asked him later that evening, as we rode.

"I don't." he responded. 

"Something," I had insisted. "You must have something that keeps you loyal to the Iron Islands. Otherwise, why bother? You're a bastard, you're able to go somewhere else, be a free man, not involved in any of this."

He sat calmly atop his horse, gave me a curious glance. "Why do you want to know?" he'd asked in a light tone, as if I'd asked him why he preferred mead over wine. 

"I don't trust you," I told him. "Your cousins all trust you implicitly. On both sides. Your uncle trusted you, to his foolish end. Even that ass Dontyn trusted you. However, I find myself at odds in the situation. I have no reason to trust you. Yet."

Sighing, he turned back ahead. "You need proof," he said. 

"Aye, something of that nature." I told him. 

"Very well," he replied. "I am deposing you at Winterfell. Upon my return, I will have two things. One that you hold dear to you, and one that I hold dear to me."

"I fucking hate riddles." I told him.

"It's no riddle," he answered. "Just the truth. You will understand when I return."

We rode on in silence. 

I felt the ache in my heart with every beat of the hoof. 

 

Once I found myself overseeing the rebuilding of the North, I kept myself and the men very busy indeed. It helped to stay distracted, to be so exhausted at the end of each day, that I fell asleep most nights once my head touched the pillow. And in the lingering nights, the ones where my thoughts kept me awake, I would tell myself over and over that I did what I had to because I love Sansa. Things had changed, I couldn't be enough to protect her. I only knew would love her for the rest of my miserable days. I was a man tormented, and I fucking hated it.

I knew that I would never love another. 

Not that there were many others interested in taking her place. 

I'd had a few half hearted propositions. Once there was talk that the North was once again safe, that the freefolk had no interest in sacking our lands, plenty of whores arrived, seeing the opportunity to make a decent sum in a camp full of men starved for female company.

One night, one of the women had drunkenly stumbled into my tent and fell atop me, laughing and whispering seductively as she fumbled with my breeches. 

"Do you know who I am?" I'd asked her incredulously.

"Aye," she'd giggled, stroking her hands down my thighs and parting my legs. "You're the one they call the Hound. They say you're the most fearsome thing here." She began undressing herself as I watched, dumbfounded.

"Come here, Hound" she had purred, taking my hand and stroking her amply endowed breasts with it. "Show me what Hounds like."

Swinging her leg over top of me, she grinded against my manhood, her folds grazing me. I gritted my teeth and tried to relax. Maybe if I let her, maybe then I could forget about everything that kept me awake at night, everything that hurt. 

"Gods," she said, leaning forward to stroke my cheek, positioning herself to take me inside her. "You're very well endowed."

I swallowed and leaned back, mechanically bringing my hands up to cup her breasts. She leaned into my touch, and bent her head forward to kiss me. 

She must have been very drunk, I decided. Most whores refuse to kiss customers, unless they're very handsome or pay very,  very well. 

Once her lips touched mine, I tasted only wine. No sweetness. No heat. Nothing like Sansa.

I broke the kiss off and shifted until she moved off of me. 

"What?" she pouted, her breasts quivering in the moonlight. "I ain't good enough for you, is that it? " 

I handed her several coins.

"You're drunk," I said, pulling my breeches up and closing them. "And I am to wake up early in the morning. So I must tell you goodnight."

She was young and quite pretty, the nature of her lifestyle still hadn't caught up to her yet, it seemed. Still one could never be certain. In Kings Landing, if the need had ever....arose, I had gone to the more elite whorehouses, the ones where the women were checked for disease regularly and paid very well to be discreet and excellent playacters. I'd gone in, allowed the madam to select one who was not afraid to make some extra coin on the fearsome Hound, done my business and left. I'd only been a few times, unable to stomach patronizing such an establishment frequently.

After she left I secured my tent tightly. Then I'd removed my tunic. I laid down on my side, hidden under blankets, and taken myself in hand, thinking of Sansa.

I imagined her on top of me, her breasts bouncing as she rode me, her rosy lips forming a perfect 'O' as she came.

I imagined her underneath me, her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me to her, her ladylike control gone as she moaned my name and gripped my shoulders, nails digging into my skin. 

I imagined the love we'd made the morning we said we loved one another 

I spilled into my tunic, agony and ecstasy all at once. 

Cleaning up my mess, I sighed at how pathetic I was. 

"At least I will save more coins this way." I muttered to myself wryly. 

I fell asleep, not knowing that soon a raven was to come.

One that would change everything. 

 

 

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be breaking this chapter of Sansa's into two parts. It will follow the same timeline as Sandor's chapter (3 months later) but it will do so in a two-parter. Hope that doesn't confuse anyone. Also, thank you all so much for reading!

Sansa-

One month later

The wind whipped through my hair and teased strands into my eyes. I brushed them back impatiently, trying to to listen as Asha Greyjoy spoke to me of the new life we were all going to live. "See that rock there?" she motioned into the distance, as a huge boulder jutted out proudly, away from the land. "That's where the dragons take flight. And that's where Jon and Daenerys Targaryen are to meet us."

I squinted up into the distance, watching as it came slowly into closer view. I began to feel squeamish, not a new feeling these past two weeks. Seasickness had been my companion for much of the journey. 

"Do you think Jon will be angry?" I asked her, before I could stop myself.

She chuckled. "Oh yes, I think he will be angry."

"That's very comforting, thank you." I said in a dry tone.

 "I'm happy to help my lady. Anything you need." Asha's laughter died off as she strode to the upper deck and I closed my eyes, inhaling the salty air.

 

Once we arrived, I embraced Jon, and to my delight, Arya and Bran.

Bran had hidden in the tombs under Winterfell after the attack, finding a secret passage leading to them that had been hidden in the Godswoods that nobody had known about. He had found it as a boy, when he had loved to climb and explore.

Arya had fought bravely alongside Jon and his men, and to nobody's surprise had proven herself a valuable asset to the army.

After several hours, I was shown to a sparse, stone room warmed by a fire. I looked at the bed and and walked over to the window, where the vast sea stretched out before me. 

I felt tears coming, though I forced myself to remain stoic and smiling. I had so much to be thankful for, I told myself sternly. I had no need to weep. This was a time of rejoicing. The whitewalkers had been burned, or led to the sea and drowned, and the lands were safe again. For now.

 

"How are you, Cousin?" I asked Jon a few days later, after we were able to have a moment alone, walking the grounds in front of the castle. 

He smiled ruefully, glancing up at the castle then back at me. "It's very odd to hear you address me as cousin. All of this is a bit odd, still. But I am well, Sansa. As well as I have been in a long while."

We were silent as we slowly made our way up to the top of a hill, overlooking the sea.

"It's very beautiful here." I said. It truly was. Dragonstone had seemed cold and forbidding when I had first arrived, but now that I'd spent some time here, I saw that it was ripe with history, strong and powerful. It was unlike anything I'd ever seen.

"Aye," he agreed. "It is."

"But....." I said.

He looked at me, startled. "What?"

I gave him a small smile. "You seem...ill at ease. Forgive me for being intrusive, I just wondered if you were adjusting to all this."

Jon sighed, running a hand over his face and looking at me.

"I don't know... yes, I suppose...Things changed so quickly in so many ways. I still think of home as Winterfell. But this," he swept his hands over the lands around us, "This is my home, I'm told."

"You will always have a place at Winterfell" I told him firmly.  "You're the rightful King of the North, no matter where your fealty is pledged. Because you earned it. You weren't simply born into it. You proved yourself to the people, over and over again."

He smiled at me.

"How is the Lady of Winterfell," he asked, changing the subject. "I see you survived quite an ordeal. The Hound took care of you I suppose?"

There it was, the question in his eyes. Gods, I thought. He knows.

Swallowing, I forced myself to smile carefully. "I am no worse for the wear" I lied. "I am here and Ser Clegane is in Winterfell, I'm told." I paused, and looked at Jon.  "It seems we all came out of our ordeals relatively unscathed."

He looked at me a beat longer than necessary. "I suppose you're right," he said as we continued our walk. We turned our talk to other things, laughing as we had never been able to do before. 

 

Later that evening, I bathed and put on a fresh nightdress. I would never again take advantage of bathing and clean clothes, I promised myself. I sat by the fire, combing out my hair, when there was a knock at the door.

I opened it to find Theon Greyjoy.

"Theon," I said slowly, opening the door wide as I tried to mask my shock. I hadn't seen him since that terrifying day, when he had helped me flee the Boltons. Though we'd been successful and he had saved me from Miranda's crossbow, it was a day I tried to push far back in my memory.

I shook the bad thoughts from my mind. "Come in." I told him, stepping back.

He came in silently, hugging the perimeter of the room.

I sat on the edge of the bed.

"I just wanted to make sure you were settling in." he said, his eyes on the ground then rising back up to meet mine. "I set sail again tomorrow with my men."

Confused, I stared at him. "Didn't you just arrive?" I asked. "I sailed on the same ship as you, with Asha's fleet." he replied.

I stayed silent. Asha had told me how Theon had turned craven when Euron had captured their ship, but regained his courage and sailed for her rescue, with his own fleet.

Finally I said "Everything is well, Theon. I am truly glad you're with your kinsman and sister again. I wish you a safe journey in your travels."

He hesitated then thrust a sheet of paper forward. "I received a Raven just this morning. You are to read it as well".

I took it from him, warily. It was a simple correspondence from Daniel to Theon, with a short message on the restoration Winterfell, and how Sandor Clegane had been the overseer of the project, succeeding in building a team of men to help him. It stated that Sansa Stark should be shown the letter, as the Lady of Winterfell, in relevance to her land and its progress. Sandor. I had tried not to think of him. Of course he had filtered through my thoughts more times than I could count each day.

I felt as if a blow to the chest had devastated me. He was rebuilding Winterfell. _He was commanded to_ , a voice reminded me. But....he had not pledged fealty to House Stark, such a disarray as it was. He had been working hard to regain what was lost. I thought back to our final day together, when I'd told him I'd wanted to go home. _Home, he had asked. Cleganes Keep or Winterfell?_

I blinked and came back to myself, noticing Theon watching me closely with and odd look on his face. 

"Sansa," he began. He looked at my face and opened then shut his mouth again. "Do you....do you want to go with me? Do you want me to take you to Winterfell?"

I knew it was a careless thing to offer. He was in the middle of a war with his uncle and I would be a burden to him. But I was touched by his offer, though I told myself I still needed to work on schooling my emotions in a better fashion. 

"I will return to Winterfell one day," I told him, "but I believe my place is here right now. Things are uncertain as of yet. I thank you for your kind offer though,  Theon." I told him. 

He nodded. 

"I understand", he said. "You're probably right. Things are safer here."

"For now." I told him. 

"Yes," he responded with a half smile. "For now."

I bade him goodnight and after he left, I fell into a restless sleep. 

 

_To be continued...._

 

 

 


	22. Chapter 22

-Sansa-

Two months later

 

I wrote the letter, trying to be as brief and impersonal as possible. I allowed it to dry, salted it, sealed it and carried it to the area where the ravens were housed. Blessedly I passed no one on my way, save a few guards who gave me no more than an impersonal glance and resumed their posts. 

I attached the letter to the raven myself and sent it on its way. I watched it fly until I could no longer see the dark blot in the sky. Then I returned to the castle. All that I had left to do was wait. 

 

A little over a month ago, I found myself plagued by a sickness that left me easily tired, nauseous, adverse to certain foods and smells. I had managed to hide it from almost everyone by eating slowly in the dining hall so as to not draw attention to myself. It was easy enough to remain discreet because the same affliction that I suspected plagued me, was also the condition that Daenerys found herself in. The Queen was with child. 

We rose as she walked in to the great room and took her seat. She moved with ease and grace, seemingly untroubled by any ill effects of her pregnancy. 

 

Jon helped her into her chair, with a grim determination. I felt terribly sorry for him, being in the situation that he found himself in. He felt responsible for the babe, yet at odds that it was conceived before he himself knew he was a Targaryen. 

"Two new Targaryens. It's almost like a population explosion." 

This came from Varys, who sat to my left. 

I smiled neutrally at him. "You could certainly say that." I responded lightly. 

He smiled politely back at me and engaged in a conversation with Lord Tyrion, who had remained polite to me as well. No hard feelings lingered from the short, unconsumated marriage we'd been forced into several years ago. 

Feeling my stomach churn, I started cutting my food into tiny pieces, forcing myself to take a small bite when I thought someone's eyes might be upon me. 

After what seemed like an eternity, dinner was blessedly over. Lord Varys rose to help me out of my seat.

"Thank you, my Lord", I demurred quietly, intending to bolt to my room before anyone could stop me. I was feeling light headed and quite ill. Dinner had been fish and the smell was something I was eager to remove myself far away from. 

"Lady Sansa," came the voice of Lord Varys. "A moment, if you please? I assure you, it will be brief."

Fighting a groan, I turned toward him, a smile pasted upon my face. "Of course, my Lord."

He took me by the elbow, walking me out of the great hall, towards my rooms. 

"I have something for you", he said, procuring a small packet from his robes. "Something to ease your sickness, as it is. They tell me that after the first few months it tends to ease off, but I am afraid that I am woefully uneducated in that area. I have been assured that these herbs are quite safe, however. You brew a tea with them each morning and afternoon, to stave off the nausea."

I stared at him in shock. We had reached my chamber door and he patted my hand gently, handing me the packet. 

"Sleep well, my lady." he said kindly, walking silently down the hall. 

 I crept into my bedroom, staring at the packet. Then I hid it in my wardrobe, buried deep beneath my dresses and furs. 

The next week was trying. I was sick often and finally had to face the reality of the situation. I was most likely with child and Sandor deserved to know. Part of me wondered about not telling him, but that part died out quickly, and I began to compose a letter in my thoughts. 

A small secret part of me thrilled at the fact that I carried Sandor's child. He was the man I loved, no matter how hard I tried to deny it. He deserved to know about the child. I wouldn't keep it from him. 

So I sent the raven and waited for weeks until a return one arrived. Each day that the sun set and no reply came, my heart sank a little lower. 

 Finally, after I had all but given up that I would hear from him, a raven arrived. 

Unfortunately, Jon intercepted it. 

He came storming into my room, face white, clutching a piece of parchment. I felt my stomach drop, even as my heart gave a flutter of long awaited anticipation. 

"What is this?" he growled in a low tone.  

I took the letter from him. 

 _Sansa_ , it read

_I was surprised to hear your news. I spent a long while trying to think of a suitable solution to the problem. Winterfell, as it stands, is not a suitable place to give birth. It still needs quite a bit of work, despite the progress we have made. I know that my coming to Dragonstone at this time would be a mistake. I cannot leave my job here, as badly as I'd like to, to come there. Please give me time to complete my task here and I will find a way to reach you._

_S. C._

 

I felt a spark of hope, for the first time in weeks. 

"Sansa?" Jon asked, sitting beside me on the bed. "Is it true? Are you thinking of returning to Winterfell with Daenerys?"

I nearly laughed aloud. Jon believed I'd have Daenerys sent to Winterfell to deliver her babe. Of course that was what he'd think. 

"It's not what you think" I said slowly, trying to find a way through this situation. 

There was a knock at the door. Jon stood to open it. 

"The Queen requests an audience with Lady Sansa Stark." said the messenger. "Immediately."

He bowed and walked away. 

I turned to Jon. 

"She read the letter before I did." he explained. 

I felt dizzy. I was to explain to the whole court that I was with child. 

"Jon," I pleaded, "see if she will see me in private. This has been a mistake and I need to explain it to her. But not in front of an entire audience."

"I'll see what I can do," he said. "However, I will need to know what is going on. Sansa, please, don't do anything foolish. Not now ."

I sighed. There was no point in being delicate about this. 

"I'm pregnant, Jon." I said bluntly.

He looked at me in shock, then wariness. Finally a cold fury, settled in his eyes, and I felt myself taken back a bit by that cold, dark glare. 

"The Hound." he said. His voice was tight with barely leashed anger. 

"The Hound" I agreed. "But Jon, it isn't what you think. I...." I trailed off, still feeling the sting of Sandor's rejection, but quickly found my courage, to make him understand. "I care for him, Jon"

He looked at me. "You care for him?"

"I love him." I said simply. 

He looked away for a long moment, then back at me. 

"Let's go see the queen," He said softly. "Perhaps she will grant us a private audience."

We walked to the court, where Daenerys sat upon her throne. 

"Lady Sansa," she began once we were in front of her. "I hear my birthing plans include being shipped off to Winterfell. Do you care to tell me why?"

Jon looked at me. He began to open his mouth to speak. 

"No, it's all right," I told him, suddenly weary of farce, of trying to be silent and strong. "I need to be honest." 

I turned back to Daenerys. 

"I beg your pardon, my Queen, but I will speak plainly. The letter was about me. I find myself with child. The father remains in Winterfell."

A flurry of whispers went around the court. 

"Silence." Daenerys told them. 

She regarded me briefly. 

"Lady Stark, we need to talk privately. In my chamber, in one hour's time."

I curtsied and kept my eyes down. 

After she dismissed me, I hurried to my room. I had plenty of explaining to do. But I needed to read Sandor's letter one last time. 

He wanted this child, I felt it in his words. He was not so indifferent to us, I thought, cradling the small bump of my stomach. The thought warmed my heart for the first time in months. 


	23. Chapter 23

-Sandor-

I stared up at the newly constructed house of Winterfell. The smell of new wood lingered all around. Beyond that the sky was unusually blue and cloudless. Holding myself quite still, I allowed my gaze to roam over it all, trying to drink in the pleasant feeling of a job nearly done and a beautiful day.  

I wanted someone to share it with, I realized. I felt a longing for company, which was incredibly foreign to me. I was a man accustomed to solitude. But that was before my world had changed. 

Sansa's letter lay folded in my breast pocket. It was worn and creased from being read so many times. I had it memorized now.

_Sandor,_

_I know that when we parted, I made a spectacle of myself and did not go gracefully. I apologize for that. Please know that the very last thing I wish is to cause you any sort of distress. But there is something I must tell you, as it is only fair that you know the situation._

_I have to confer with a maester to be completely certain, but I know in my heart this to be true. I am with child. Our child. I know that the circumstances are less than ideal, but this child was conceived in love and I do not regret the time we spent together making this child. I will care for this child, protect it, raise it to know that its father is a brave, honorable, kind and handsome man. A man who is a true knight, despite his protestations. You can be involved in our child's life as much as you see proper. If you want to remove yourself from the situation, I would be saddened but I would also understand. Please do not feel that you must do anything from obligation._

_Sansa_

 

The night I received that letter, I ended up getting roaring drunk for the first time in months. Stumbling to my tent, I collapsed, clutching the letter. I rolled onto my side in case I was sick in the night. I felt cold, through and through.

Joy had initially flowed through me. The love I had tried to deny came crashing back onto me. Drinking jubilantly, I allowed myself to imagine a life with Sansa, raising our babe, loving them both fiercely, providing anything they could ever want or need. 

The longer I drank, the more my doubts began to seep in. 

I was a scarred up old dog, fit for nothing more than ferociously guarding those I was appointed to protect. Sansa was young and beautiful and a Lady of an important house. Once the smoke cleared from the battles of deciding who sat upon the iron throne, she would have no trouble finding a far more suitable husband, one that was younger, handsome, more suited for a lady. 

Torn between warring emotions, I found myself deep in my cups with no clear answer as to what I should do. This went on more nights than I cared to admit. I knew I needed to send some sort of answer to the question Sansa was asking. I just didn't know what to say. 

The answer came to me in a most unfortunate way. 

Not quite two weeks later,  there was an accident with the lumber. 

I was assisting the smithy with carrying the iron latches to the gates when a terrible scream arose from the edge of the woods. 

We dropped everything, as did the others, and ran to source of the distress. 

A young man lay, pinned under a fallen tree. He was shuddering, gasping his last breaths, as the others worked to remove the log. 

"Don't roll the log!" I bellowed. "Lift it! We must lift it up!"

I joined the others, as we succeeded in lifting the log enough to slowly pull the man out from underneath.

By then, it was too late. His entire torso was crushed beyond repair. His last words were beyond recognition but somehow I knew he spoke of someone. 

As the smithy and I took the unfortunate task of relaying the terrible news to the man's family, I was shocked to see that his family was a young woman, barely older than Arya. She held a child and her belly swelled with another one, soon to be born from the looks of it. 

She wailed her anguish and despair, dropping to her knees, clutching the child to her. The child began to cry in alarm. Neighbors rushed from all over, one woman taking the young one, several others giving the young woman their arms, their comfort. She sank further to the ground sobbing. 

As the smithy and I left, he remarked "The poor girl. She's left alone in this world, to fend for herself and the bairns."

The next day I carefully and discreetly wrapped a good deal of coins into a leather pouch. Enough to get a family of three through the cold winter months. I carried it over to the little house and gave it quietly to the widow. She took it gratefully, though she broke down weeping as I pressed it into her hand. 

"I thank you," she whispered. 

"There's nothing to thank me for," I told her. "If you need anything, come find us. We won't let you starve."

Tears rose fresh in her eyes. She nodded and shut the door. 

As I walked away, I had a single purpose in mind. 

I sat down at a newly constructed desk in Winterfell and wrote Sansa a letter.

As the raven flew off, carrying what I needed to say, I felt my heart lift up as it flew. 

Life was far too uncertain, too short, too precious to be indecisive. Though Sansa could do far better than myself, I would spend the rest of my life adoring her and keeping her as happy as possible. True, she deserved the world, a handsome knight, riches and luxuries I couldn't offer; but I knew that nobody, not one spoiled, useless fuck from a wealthy house could love her the way I loved her. 

I would finish my work, and I would bring her and our babe home. 

 


	24. Chapter 24

-Sansa-

In one hour's time, after leaving the court, I arrived at the Queen's chamber door with Jon by my side. 

Nervously, I waited while a guard announced our arrival. I smoothed my skirts and hair. 

"You're fidgeting," Jon said, rocking on his heels and staring straight ahead, hands clasped together at his front. 

"I'm not" I said. "But you look like you're about to jump out of your skin."

We both looked at each other began to laugh, the nerves and pressure finally beginning to show the cracks. Truly there wasn't much to find funny about our situation, but apparently mirth relieved some of the tension. 

I took a deep breath and tried to smother my laughter. 

"The Queen will think we've gone quite mad" I said, another laugh escaping me. 

"Perhaps we have" Jon replied.

The door to the chamber opened and Jon motioned me forward. I stepped in tentatively, waiting until the guard motioned toward a table by an open window. 

Daenerys sat there, staring out at the sea, her hand absently cradling her rounded stomach. She turned to us as we approached her. 

"Sansa", she said calmly. "Please sit".

Turning to Jon, she said "You may leave if you wish, my lord. Sansa has naught to fear from me."

Jon hesitated, looking at me.

"It's all right, Jon" I said, trying to give him a reassuring smile. I didn't want to cause any discord between him and Daenerys. Their situation seemed rocky as it was. 

Jon nodded jerkily and walked out the door. It shut with a resounding thud. 

I looked at Daenerys. She had resumed staring out at the sea. 

Feeling uncomfortable, I held myself very still, unsure of what to expect. 

Finally, she glanced up at me and beckoned toward the chair across from her. 

"Forgive me. Please, sit."

I sat across from her and tried to school my features into a mask of calm, the way I'd learned to do with the Lannisters, and then the Boltons.

I found myself out of practice and soon I was trembling. 

"You've no need to fear me, Sansa, I meant that when I said it to Jon. I too know how it feels to find yourself unexpectedly with child, while the circumstances are...a bit unusual," she finished with a small smile. 

I tried to return her small smile, and maybe even managed.

"The father...." she said. "He is Ser Sandor Clegane? Known as the Hound I'm told, though that was a title he'd left behind in Kings Landing, I believe."

"He is, my Queen." replied. 

She nodded, looking at me in a straightforward manner that left me slightly unnerved. 

"I realize that this is being very forward, but I must know. Do you love him?"

I nodded, and to my horror, tears sprang to my eyes. I dashed them away, refusing to break her gaze. 

"I do, my Queen." I said, trying to keep my voice strong. 

She smiled at me, and a faraway look came into her eyes.  

"I can remember it, the joy you feel, expecting a child with the man you love," she said her normally strong tone a bit softer. 

Thinking she was speaking of Jon, I smiled. 

Her eyes met mine, a sad glint in them. 

"My husband was Khal Drogo, the leader of the Dothraki. He was the strongest, bravest man I'd ever encountered. I feared him at our first meeting, and for several weeks after our marriage. Then we grew to love one another, a great love I'd never expected."

Daenerys paused, looking down a moment.

"He was killed, then I lost our child.  The witch who was responsible for it told me I'd never have another. My dragons are my children, the only ones I believed I'd have. Now," she smiled glancing down at her belly, "I have another to call my own."

I looked at her with sympathy in my eyes. "I'm so sorry my Queen, about your child and husband. I did not know."

She gave me a pained smile. "Do you know, as much joy as I feel now that I am carrying this babe, I also feel fear alongside it, almost constantly? Fear that something might go wrong, might happen to harm my child. It makes me wish that witch was still alive so I could kill her again, myself."

She turned her head to stare out the window a moment. 

Looking at me, she was composed, her queenly self once again. 

"It's a troublesome spot we find ourselves in," she said. "As much as I know you wish to be with your beloved, it is not safe to travel the seas just now. There is a war, still. The Greyjoys cannot be trusted, not fully. The Lannisters and their shaky truce could end at any moment. I fear the risk of sending you to Winterfell is far too great."

I felt my heart sink. 

"However," she said. "I am not opposed to having Sandor Clegane at Dragonstone. He would be welcome, as a great fighter and the father of a Stark child."

I smiled. "Thank you, my Queen."

She returned my smile. 

After she dismissed me, I nearly ran into Jon as I rounded a corner, hurrying to my room to write a letter to Sandor. 

"Well," he asked as he began to walk with me. "What says the Queen?"

"She is not opposed to Sandor traveling here to Dragonstone. She thinks it unwise for me to travel to Winterfell in my...condition."

He stilled beside me, and we walked to my chamber in silence.

"Jon," I said, uneasy with his silence. "I know things are not conventional as they stand, but having Sandor here would be an asset to us all. Queen Daenerys says it herself, Sandor is a great fighter, and with a war coming... "

Jon frowned. "That's just it, Sansa. There is a war coming. Winterfell has just been restored, and there is no-one to protect it, save Sandor Clegane. He is needed in Winterfell, Sansa. We can spare precious few men as it stands."

I looked at him in dismay. 

He sighed, reaching for my shoulder, but I stepped away.  

"Sansa," he sighed. "I know you want him here. I understand. I do. But your home lies unprotected in the North, and where will you and your child go after all this is finished?"

I stared at him, not believing what I was hearing. 

"I will go with Sandor, Jon."

"Sansa", he said gently. "You know that your home is in Winterfell. You're a Stark. It's where you belong. And in order to be a Stark in Winterfell, you need a home there. You will risk lands and holdings being taken by raiders, you'll be without a home. Where else can you go, Clegane's Keep? It's too close to King's Landing, and Gregor Clegane is still alive."

I stood rooted to the spot, as if I was seeing Jon for the first time. 

"Is that all you're worried about?" I asked him. "Protecting a piece of land?" 

Jon looked at me in equal surprise. 

"Winterfell is your home. Arya's home, Bran's home. It's been home to Starks for years and years. Your father and your ancestors are buried there. We fought for it, if you recall, and many died for it."

"It was your home," I whispered. "It was your home as well, Jon. Your father, as you knew him, is buried there."

"Sansa..." he began, frustrated. 

"We will talk later, Jon," I told him, turning to walk in my chamber. "I need to rest now."

He stood a moment, then nodded and turned to walk away.

I entered my room, shutting my door, leaning against it and closing my eyes. 

"Well, it's good to know that you think so little of our home, sister. Or perhaps the pregnancy has addled your mind."

My eyes flew open. 

Arya stood, leaning against a bed post. Pushing herself away, she sauntered toward me. 

"I can't believe you're pregnant" she said, "The Lady of Winterfell, whelping the Hound's pup."

She came even closer. 

"Then, you want to throw over the only chance we have at keeping Winterfell. The Hound and the men he's rounded up, they're all we've got to protect it. The other Houses in the North won't stand with us once they've realized Jon has pledged fealty to House Targaryen. His true house."

She stopped, now directly in front of me. 

"What happens, if Sandor is killed in the fighting?" she asked. 

I didn't move, I barely breathed. 

"We are all out of luck if that happens, that's what," she answered herself. 

"I think I have a solution to both problems."  

I looked at her in surprise. 

"Listen carefully," she said. "You will speak of this to no one."

"I'm listening." I replied. 

 

 

 


	25. Chapter 25

-Sandor-

_Three weeks later_

I paced restlessly, making Daniel lower his whittling and watch me.

I strode from one large tree to the next, and back again, just outside of Winterfell. 

Finally I stopped, turning to stare at him. 

"Watching you is more entertaining than scratching at wood". He explained, sheathing his knife and dropping his work into a pouch. "You're like a caged Lion. But you've no cage." 

"Watch your talk of lions out here." I grumbled. 

Daniel had a uncanny way of knowing what a person was thinking, perceiving the way a trail of thoughts was leading. Normally it made me uneasy, but just now I was too anxious to bother with his eccentricities. 

Not much later, horses could be heard in the distance. 

Daniel heard them as well. Standing, he drew his sword.

I had mine as well. While I didn't distrust the Greyjoys, one couldn't be too careful. Also, who could say what else what roamed these woods?

Here they arrived, riding in a 'V' pattern, flanked by Asha and Theon. 

Daniel lowered his sword, but I kept mine by my side. 

Unperturbed, Asha rode forward and stopped ahead of me. 

"Clegane," she said, swinging down from her horse. "You received my raven, obviously. Otherwise you wouldn't be here."

"Aye" I told her. 

Something in the background caught my eye. Two hooded figures shifted on their horses. I eyed them suspiciously, feeling curiously unnerved. 

"Hostages," Asha said lightly, leading her horse towards the clearing, next to a stream. "We couldn't cross the sea without some sort of bargaining tool".

"As long as you take them on with you, I suppose it is no concern of mine." I told her. 

"Oh, don't you worry Clegane," she said sweetly. "We wouldn't dream of burdening you."

We arrived at the new keep, rough and ready, a far cry from the grandeur it once was. However, it was soundly constructed, large and grand in its own simple way. 

Theon requested I take him on a tour of the new holdings as the others set up camp. 

Theon smiled as he observed the grounds. The stables, training yard, the main keep. Even the tower. I'd tried to reconstruct everything from memory, the best I'd been able. 

"You did well." he said. 

"I didn't work alone," I told him.  There are 50 men that deserve your praise, since I worked them like slaves. Paid them well, though. They were grateful enough since the wights and the fires destroyed almost everything around here."

After we returned to the others, Asha met us. 

"You're needed in the great hall," she said breathlessly. "The captives, one has barricaded themselves inside".

"For fuck's sake," I growled, taking out my sword and heading inside.

Reaching the doors, I pounded the rough, unfinished wood. 

"Open this damned door or I'll kick it down!" I roared. 

The door opened, slowly. 

I stepped inside the dim, empty area. Looking all around, I saw nothing. 

Then a figure moved, standing just beside the window. 

I sighed, sheathing my sword. "Come on out now." I said.

The figure turned to me and the light from the window caught their face. 

My breath caught and suddenly I couldn't move. 

"Sansa?" I whispered, shock and relief rattling through me. 

She smiled, chin trembling, eyes brimming. 

 _"Sansa..."_ I hurried to her, gathering her into my arms, feeling hers wrap around me in return. I buried my face into her neck, her hair, and then we were kissing, desperately. 

"Sandor" she said, breaking off the kiss. "Does this keep have a bed yet?"

Laughing, I picked her up and held her tenderly to me. 

"Your room was the first one furnished, my lady," I said with a smile, carrying her out of the hall and to the direction of the stairs. 

Laughing, she clung to me, gazing at me lovingly. 

Asha spotted us going up the stairs and said to the others, loudly, "Looks like we'll have to fend for ourselves tonight in this strange, Northern land."

Ignoring them, I took Sansa to her room and shut the door behind us. Lowering her to her feet carefully, I watched nervously as she gazed all around her, taking in the wardrobe, the large feather bed, the tables and basin. She stepped toward the fireplace, where two soft chairs sat a safe distance back, a small table positioned between them, holding a hand mirror and a brush. 

She turned to me, her face unreadable.

I hurried to light the fireplace, telling her, "I know it's not as grand as you're used to, and if you don't like it, I can change it, however you'd like"

I stoked the fire anxiously, pushing the logs back. Heat soon filled the chilled room. 

Turning to face her, I watched as she ran her hand over the bed posts, coming toward me, gazing up at me seriously.

"Sandor, it's perfect." she said. "You're perfect. And us being here together..." she leaned her head on my chest. "It's more than I had ever dared hope for." she finished, her voice raw with emotion. 

Kissing her head, I held her close. I wanted to lay her in the bed and make love to her for hours. But first, there was one last thing I needed to show her.

"I have something else to show you" I told her. Feeling anxious, I took her out into the hall and to the room next door. 

She followed me inside, walking through the room slowly. 

A tiny crib sat in the middle of the room, warmed by a window that faced the afternoon sun. 

A small wardrobe and table with basin sat near it. A rocking chair draped in furs sat alongside the crib. Another small table held various toys. A soft rag doll, made from scraps of cloth and yarn. A rattle, pebbles securely inside a globe of smooth wood, with a smooth handle. A small tableau, engraved with a wolf and a three dogs sat alongside it. 

Sansa walked all around, as if she were in a dream. 

She touched everything gently, smiling as she turned here and there. She stopped and picked up the tableau. She ran her hand slowly across the engravings. Setting it down gently, she turned to me. 

"You did all this?" she asked softly. 

"I made the furniture. And the toys. The engraving was done by Daniel. He has a talent for it."

I paused, gazing at her uncertainly. 

"Sandor," she said. "This is wonderful. All of this, I...." she swallowed, looking at me with her large blue eyes. "You amaze me."

She came toward me. Taking my hands, she placed them gently upon her belly. 

I was shocked to feel the soft curve of her abdomen, the place that housed our babe. 

A feeling like I'd never known overcame me. I dropped to my knees before her, cupping the rounded flesh, overcome by powerful emotion. 

She stroked my hair. Looking up, I saw her smiling at me. 

I kissed her belly, feeling the warmth and firmness, and to my shock, a small flutter. 

My eyes snapped back up to hers. 

She laughed. "I felt it too," she whispered. "It's the baby, growing, moving."

I stared in wonderment at her belly, stroking it. 

Standing back up finally, I lifted her back up into my arms, carrying her into the main bedchamber again. I laid her down on the bed, then joined her. 

She snuggled up to me immediately, her lips on mine. 

She drew back, her eyes meeting mine. 

"Thank you Sandor," she said. "Thank you for everything you've done."

"I love you," I said simply. "Everything that I did...it's because I love you."

She smiled brilliantly, tears flowing as she kissed me. 

"I know," she whispered, showering me with kisses. "I know, Sandor. And I love you. More than I could possibly say."

We were lost in each other for a moment. 

"Let me show you how much I adore you," she whispered, removing my tunic. 

I let her, though I felt a frown begin. "Are you sure it's safe?" I asked her. 

"It's safe" she assured me. "I asked the Maester before we left if it was. He assured me that all would be well, so long as we were careful."

I smiled, unable to resist teasing her. "You asked a Maester about fucking?"

Her cheeks tinged pink, and she tried to scowl at me, though a smile broke free. "Well, I had to make sure we could resume our....activities. I wasn't sure if you would still want to, but-"

I interrupted her. "You weren't sure if I would still _want_ to?" 

"I didn't know how you would feel about all this," she said, stroking my bare skin as I thrilled against her touch. Trying to remember my indignation, I stilled her hands. 

"I hope you know," I said, undressing her, letting myself kiss each bare piece of skin revealed to me, "That I will always want you. You growing our babe," I added, pulling her dress off and tossing it aside, "does not change that. Nothing changes that. In fact, I find myself desiring you more than ever."

We continued kissing, stroking, as I removed every stitch of clothing that separated us. 

She shied away from me suddenly, crawling under the furs and covers draped upon the bed. 

"What is it?" I asked gently. 

"I...my body, it's...different now." she mumbled. 

"Let me see," I said patiently. 

She hesitated, then flung the covers away from herself. 

Her body was lush and ripe, breasts and hips rounded, as was the gentle swell of her belly. Her long legs lay askew and her skin had a radiant glow to it. Her rich, auburn hair gleamed against the pillow. 

I felt my mouth go dry. 

"Sansa," I said, my voice husky. "I didn't think it was possible for you to be any more beautiful. But you are. Gods..." I trailed off, finding myself in awe. 

She stared at me apprehensively. 

"Come here" I said gently. I pulled her to me, savoring the feel of her skin against mine. She must have felt it too, because she relaxed into my touch. I stroked her body, feeling her relax even more, measure by measure, until she had turned to me and began returning my touches. 

"My love," I whispered. "I missed you."

"Sandor...." she breathed, stroking my back and nestling into me closer. Her legs wrapped around my waist and I felt my member nudge at her sex. 

After that, there was nothing holding either of us back. 

I kissed her all over, taking my time. She clutched my shoulders, arching. Bringing her hands down my back slowly, she writhed and moaned my name. 

"Sandor, please", she whispered. "Take me"

Needing no further encouragement, I did as she asked. 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 


	26. Chapter 26

-Sansa-

As time went on, l felt myself growing rounder and more worried with every passing day. 

I had sent several ravens to Jon at Dragonstone, but had not yet received any reply. Arya had eventually sent a message telling me not to fret, all was well,  but messages might be scarce in the upcoming months. 

Of course, this did nothing to ease my fears. 

"I've heard nothing. Again, I sent a raven, again, no return correspondence. Can Jon not at least give me some sort of reply? A quick jot of a pen, saying something, anything?"

I was pacing in our room, the room Sandor and I had shared for the last month. I knew Sandor was tired and wanted to curl up, holding me tenderly as he did every night, and sleep.  But he leaned his head against his arm, propping himself up, to listen to my rants as I found myself frustrated and unable to come to bed just yet. 

Finally, I felt my anger abate and weariness overtook me. I came to bed, my night gown billowing around me as I lay beside Sandor, gazing upon him lovingly. 

He raised one eyebrow at my look. "What is it?" he asked.

I sighed. "You are as handsome as ever. And I grow larger by the moment."

He laughed.

I glared at him in mock annoyance, even as I let my eyes roam over him once more. 

His body had grown even more well muscled during the hard labor he'd taken on during these last several months, and he lay there, as well hewn as the most beautiful work of art. I told him as much. 

He gave a chuckle. "Perhaps a ruined work of art," indicating toward his scars.

"Sandor," I admonished in a light growl. "If I didn't know you any better, I would think you were begging for more compliments." I scooted closer to him, feeling wobbly and awkward as I planted a kiss on his ruined cheek. 

He smiled and cupped my cheek, stroking.

But a frown began to pucker his brows slightly, as if he had just realized something unpleasant. 

"Is something troubling you?" I asked. 

He shook his head, as if shaking off a bad thought. "No, little bird. All is well."

"Sandor, if someone else tells me that once more... " I began in a threatening tone. 

"It's just....what will our child think? Of me, I mean. Will I frighten him? Will he be ashamed of me?" he asked, quietly. 

"Sandor, no," I said, feeling terribly sad for him. I pulled him to me gently, kissing him softly. "Our child will love you, adore you. As I do. You will be a wonderful father. This I know, because you are a wonderful man. Besides," I said, leaning back slightly until his stormy eyes met mine. "You know, we might be having a girl."

"Aye, little bird," he said, a small smile playing upon his lips. "A girl, could be. Two bossy women, Gods help me"

"I am not bossy!" I protested, laughing. "I just have a clear idea of how things should be done."

"Aye, I am well aware you do." he answered seriously, fighting back a grin. "You made that apparent when the smithy and his apprentice left here terrified this afternoon."

"Terrified?" I sputtered. "I simply told them they needed to let the steel cool completely before they tried to hang the swords in the great hall. They might bend and how can we fight our enemies with crooked swords?"

"You're a blacksmith, as well?" he asked. "Is that something your septa ensured you'd learn? Were she alive I'd commend her thorough skills in teaching you. Perhaps she grew bored with teaching you fine ladies courtesies and songs".

I tossed my pillow at him, as he laughed in earnest. 

"You jape at my expense," I told him,  giving him a wounded look. 

"Aye, my love" he replied. "You're such a good sport about it."

I felt my eyes narrow. He smiled. 

"Come here, my little bird. Let me see if I can smooth your ruffled feathers."

I groaned. "Sandor, how can you possibly want to? I feel like an  overstuffed sack of grain."

A warm gleam came into his eyes. "You don't know what it does to me, to see you like this," he said as he began to stroke me. "You're so beautiful it makes me ache. You may not think it," he said, seeing me beginning a protest "But you grow even more lovely with each passing day. And knowing that you carry our babe," he paused, nipping at my neck and ear, making me moan softly. "I want to ask you something."

"What?" I panted, no longer in the mood for talking. 

He stilled and looked at me seriously. 

"I know that things have gone quickly for us. I wanted to wait, to be sure that you're ready for everything that is going to happen. But I find that I can't go slowly, not any longer. Time won't wait for us, and I have never been more sure of anything in my life. I want you, Sansa. I want to share my life with you, all of it. I love you beyond all reason. Which is why, I must ask you....will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?" he asked this, almost shyly. 

I stared at him in shock. I couldn't speak for several long moments. 

Finally, I found my voice. "Sandor" I whispered. "Yes. Yes, there is nothing I would want more."

He smiled and drew me close. 

The next morning, Sandor sent a raven to Jon, asking his permission for my hand. 

"I do this as a courtesy." he told me. "I don't care what his response is, truthfully. It won't change anything."

I smiled. Somehow, I knew this raven would bring a swift response. 

 

 


	27. Chapter 27

-Sandor-

I was working in the armory, the sound of beaten steel and scraping of metal against metal all around, when the reply came. 

I gladly left the noise and sharp smell to read my brief message. 

_Were it my choice, I might have a different response. However, circumstances being as they are, I give you my blessing. I realize that you don't care if you have it or not, but all the same, you have it. She could do far worse, as we both know. Care for her. My thanks for all your endeavors in rebuilding._

So, there was that. 

After our evening meal _,_  I shared the message with Sansa. She was pleased but cautious. 

"When he says circumstances being what they are..." she said, sitting down slowly.

Something wild and panicked leapt in her eyes. 

"They're traveling to Kings Landing", she gasped. "It's beginning."

"No, surely not." I told her. "They would never be so reckless, not after calling for a truce not even half a year past".

"You were there," she pointed out. "You heard Cersei, and even if you hadn't, you know her. You know she would never sit by and allow them to come to her. Not unless she had a trap set."

I frowned. Something was still unsettling to me. 

"Are we certain Jon is penning these letters?" I asked Sansa. 

She turned to me, surprised. "Why do you say that?"

"Something about them seems...off. As if he isn't himself." I told her.

It was something that had been bothering me for weeks. Something was amiss, and I was not pleased to be the last to know.

Also, Daniel had disappeared again.

He did that at times, always returning after several days. He never came very close to the keep, always choosing to stay in a tent nearby. Once, I discovered him sleeping in the stables after a stable boy got spooked when there were noises coming from the loft. 

He was enigmatic, never forthcoming with information. He had shown that he could be useful, helpful, but he was secretive in ways that I didn't understand. 

I did suspect it had something to do with our second, mystery "hostage" that had arrived with Sansa on the day of her return to Winterfell. Sansa had never known of a second hostage, having been masked when they'd been presented to us. Daniel had made himself scarce afterwards and I'd never received a clear answer on the identity of the second person. I did note that day that the form had seemed distinctively female. 

 _"I will return with someone I love and someone you love,"_  he had told me.

So perhaps he had. 

Which made the decision I had reached even more difficult. 

"As much as I hate like hell to leave," I said bluntly, coming to Sansa's side, "I fear I must."

"Leave?" she asked, startled. 

"Not forever," I assured her. "I am traveling South. I need to find out what's going on. We are here in the North, completely unaware of what's going on elsewhere and it isn't safe. Our people here, they're not safe until we know which way the wind blows."

She sat very still, staring straight ahead. 

"Sansa" I said. 

She turned to me slowly, face carefully masked into a compliant expression. "What you think best Sandor, of course, that is what you should do."

With a soft growl of frustration I reached for her, cupping her face in my hands. 

"I am not leaving you forever. Do you think you can rid yourself so easily of me? I love you, and I don't think you've even began to fathom what that means. To start with, I would do anything, everything, to keep you safe."

She held me in her gaze, tears shimmering. 

"I don't know what I would do if something happened to you" she whispered. "It isn't safe out there. Nothing is safe anymore."

She straightened herself, and took a ragged breath. 

"I do know," she continued "that as much as I would like to continue to hide here at Winterfell with you and pretend nothing exists outside these walls, you are right. We aren't safe until we know what is going on in the rest of the world."

I eased her rigid frame towards me until she softened into my embrace.

It felt so good, so  _right_ to hold her like this. It was the closest thing I'd ever felt to peace, with her in my arms.

She turned her face up to mine. 

"Promise me you'll come back." she implored, her blue eyes boring into mine. "Promise me you won't do anything dangerous. You've nothing to prove, Sandor. I need you here, with me. We," she paused, drawing my hand down to her rounded midsection. "We need you here, my love."

"I promise, Sansa. I promise I will come back."

I knew it was foolish to promise such a thing, but I couldn't help uttering the words. 

She sighed, laying her head against my chest. 

Soon, as always, our hands began to stroke and touch each other. After a while we undressed and we shared our love the best way we knew how. 

After, as she lay replete against me, I trailed my hand up and down her back thoughtfully. 

She was drifting to sleep. She was easily tired these days, growing heavier with our babe. Ripening, I'd heard a midwife call it. 

Ripe was a good way to describe her, I thought, admiring her naked form appreciatively. She was glowing, blooming. Her breasts were larger, and I had enjoyed the newly plump, sensitive mounds. She had lamented her swelling belly, her rounding hips, but I teased that it was more of her to love.

I remembered hearing stories of soldiers in the Kingsguard, of Kings themselves. How they'd sought the company of whores and mistresses the instant they discovered their wife was with child, seemingly repulsed by their wife's condition, pleading respect for her instead. I decided those men were collectively a group of horses asses. What was repulsive about the woman you loved carrying your babe? Not a damn thing. It was beautiful, a marvel.   

Sansa slept on. Her face looked sweet and guileless.

Suddenly, I realized that if I left her unmarried, our child could be born a bastard. While I didn't hold much for the rest of the world and its ways, I knew my child deserved better than to be branded a fatherless offspring. While the Clegane name may not hold high esteem, it was still a recognized name, for better or worse. 

I slid out of bed and into my clothes. I pulled the covers up over Sansa more securely and with one last loving look at her, I left our room, in search of the newly acquired maester.

I had a wedding to arrange. 

 


	28. Chapter 28

-Sansa-

 

The next several days passed quickly because I spent it in a flurry of activity. Now that Winterfell was once again alive, we needed an honest and dependable staff to keep it that way. A maester had arrived, a kindly and quiet man who mostly kept to himself. He was always patient and eager to help, and was a pleasant person to converse with. 

A midwife had arrived in a most unexpected way. 

As soon as I had removed the most prevalent of the whores from the lands, one demanded to see me. 

I came out and met her in the great room. She stood proudly, meeting my eyes. She was surprisingly fresh and lovely, with curly dark hair and startling green eyes. Her skin was golden and flawless. She didn't look to be much older than myself. 

"I have to speak with you, before you throw me out of here." she informed me the moment I stood before her.

Brash, I thought, though something compelled me to listen to her. 

"Speak freely" I told her. 

"Very well," she straightened herself even taller and took a breath. "I know you're with child and your time draws near. Though you might not believe it, I am a midwife. I learned at my mother's knee, who was a midwife as well. Well, I was a midwife in the past, I suppose, but still am. I believe you should consider taking me on as yours."

"I see," I said trying to hide my amusement at her forward manner.

She nodded, still staring right at me. "I know we don't know each other and I realize you think I'm trying to keep myself here at Winterfell, earning coin by spreading my legs. Which brings me to my other point. I'm not a whore. I've never been one. In fact, I'm newly arrived here and have been staying on with the other...girls. They took me in and paid me a bit to clean up after them, wash their clothes. That sort of thing." 

"What's your name?" I asked her. Normally I would turn deaf ears to such a story but I found that I actually believed her tale. This girl, who was dressed in a rough dress but had a fresh look to her and a fiery spirit, was no whore. 

"My name is Greta," she nodded and gave a ghost of a curtsy. "You're Sansa Stark, aren't you?"

I smiled a bit. "Yes, I am. Pleased to meet you Greta."

After some talking, I decided that Greta could stay on, as a test of sorts. She seemed to know quite a bit about midwifery and after checking with some of the men, her story of not using her charms for coin rang true. 

I also found a maid, a cook, and several others sent to us by neighboring villages. People, those left after the wights had destroyed so much, were desperate for work. 

Finally it was time to take our evening meal. I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open, though the fare was better than usual. The cook had been hired that day and seemed determined to prove herself straightaway. 

Sandor was quieter than usual and seemed to be burning with nervous energy. 

I stifled a yawn, and asked him "Are you quite all right?"

"Aye," he responded. "Oh, and after dinner, check your room. I believe there is something waiting for you up there."

I smiled at him. He sometimes left flowers or presents for the babe for me to find. It was a sweet game that we both seemed to quite enjoy.

After dinner I made my way to the bedroom. 

Upon opening the door, a dress lay across the bed. I walked over to it, surprised. 

It was ivory, shot with gold thread, with a fitted bodice and softly flared waist.

I touched it, marveling at the soft fabric and the careful stitches. 

It was simple but beautiful, and made very well.  As I lifted it, a note fluttered to the ground. 

It took a moment but I managed to pick it up.

_Sansa,_

_I hope you like the dress. A bath should be arriving soon._

_Sandor_

 

As if on cue, a gentle knock came at the door.

It was, in fact, the bath. After it was arranged, a maid poured a sweet smelling oil into the water. I sank into the tub with a small sigh of pleasure. My hair was washed for me and after I was clean all over, I was assisted out of the tub and into the chair by the fire. My hair was combed gently through and more of the oil was rubbed onto my skin. 

Once she was satisfied that my hair was dry enough, she left it loose and helped me into the dress. 

"Oh, my lady. It fits perfectly." said the maid. 

She led me to the glass and I saw that it did in fact fit well. It gently hugged my bosom and flared just enough at the hips to make way for my belly. The length was perfect and the gold thread seemed to shimmer in the firelight. 

Soon she had me slip into shoes that complemented the dress and a new cape, a soft dove gray. 

Finally, she pulled out a thin circlet of gold and handed it to me. 

I took it and examined it gently. It was adorned with small gold flowers and near the front, a pair of small gold birds. I smiled and handed it back to her. She arranged it on my head and I looked in the glass once more at my reflection. It looked just right. 

As I went downstairs, I heard a low murmur of voices. 

Once I reached the landing, Daniel and Greta stood below. 

Surprised, I walked toward them slowly. 

Daniel noticed me and gave me a rare smile. "My lady. You look lovely."

"Yes she does," said Greta, coming to my side. "Oh, your dress... And your hair. I was right, it looks beautiful flowing like this."

"You were right?" I asked. "Wait, how long has this been planned? Who all knows about this?"

"In time, in time!" said Daniel, offering his arm. "Sandor Clegane awaits us in the godswoods."

Feeling the old stirrings of fear, I pressed my lips together and hesitated, glancing at the proffered arm. 

Daniel leaned in. "I can understand your dislike of surprises. I myself hate surprises. But I assure you, all will be well. Greta and I are here to escort you to Sandor."

I took his arm and we walked outside. The pathway was lit with torches. It reminded me of night not long ago and I felt my barely leashed panic try to free itself. I firmly tamped it down and took a deep breath of the cold night air.

As we walked further toward the woods, I saw him. 

Sandor stood with a man who appeared to be a Septon. 

I felt a rush of relief, making me almost dizzy. 

Closer still we came, to a clearing of trees. Sandor stood very tall and handsome, in new breeches and a tunic that were the same soft gray color of my new cloak. His hair was neatly combed and he favored me with a tender smile. 

I smiled in return. We were to be married after all. I practically floated to his side. 

As I stood by his side and faced him, he grinned at me. I too was smiling, so hard that I feared my face might crack. I was so happy. I had never thought to feel this happy, not since I was a girl and had simple, silly dreams and pleasures. 

Sandor gripped my hands as the Septon spoke his words. 

Binding our hands, he gave us our vows, to recite to one another, to seal our union. 

_Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger_

_I am hers_

_I am his_

_And she is mine_

_And he is mine_

_From this day, until the end of my days_

 

The Septon decreed us husband and wife, as Daniel and Greta looked on. 

It was done. We belonged to one another, in truth as well as in our hearts. 

I pulled Sandor down and kissed my husband. He smiled against my lips and gave me such a sweet, fiery kiss that I became eager to take my husband to our marriage bed.

Daniel chuckled, bringing me back to the present. The Septon stood discreetly aside as Greta smiled broadly. She walked close to Daniel and bumped him gently. 

"Come now Daniel, let's you and I take care of the remaining matters and let the newlyweds have some time to themselves."

Daniel, who was one of the most stoic and expressionless men I'd ever met, actually appeared to blush and seemed briefly flustered at her closeness. 

"Of course" he said smoothly. "I'll take care of things from here. May you two have a long and happy union."

"Thank you Daniel. Thank you Greta." I told them, smiling a bit broader at the pair. It became clear to me that Greta being here was no accident. Perhaps she and Daniel were acquainted far better than I knew. 

Sandor led me back to our home, pausing to scoop me up and carry me across the threshold. 

"You'll break your back" I told him, cupping his scarred cheek tenderly in my hand. 

"Don't deny me the pleasure of carrying my wife across the threshold of our home, little bird" he growled, though he was smiling still. 

"Yes, my lord husband" I said demurely. 

He laughed, shaking his head a bit. 

"Come, my newly meek lady wife. Our marriage bed awaits." he said, still chuckling. 

Through the night, I lost my meekness and loved him with a fire that matched only his own. Though we were no strangers to each others bodies, we took the time to discover one another and be as close as possible. It was one of my favorite nights we had ever spent together, which is saying a great deal, since we had spent many a very pleasant night together. 

As we finally drifted to sleep, I thanked the gods for bringing me to Sandor, despite all the trials. For this was my knight of love and beauty, at last. 


	29. Chapter 29

-Sandor-

I paced the hall. Up, towards the wide windows overlooking the training yard and the cool, gray sky. Down, towards the bedchamber where Sansa lay, pouring all she had into bringing our child into the world. 

We'd been married only one month and I already felt as if I was failing my wife, though I could do next to nothing to help her in this. I hated that feeling .

Another scream, one of many in the past few minutes, erupted from behind the chamber door. I gripped my hands into fists and and waited until the tight clutch of fear released my heart a bit before I continued my pacing. 

Sansa had began to feel the pains of labor this morning. She had seemed calm and peaceful, humming a bit and readying things that apparently needed to be done in order to prepare for her task. As the day wore on, the pains had intensified and began to grow closer together until she took to the bed. Greta and a maid experienced with childbirth had arrived, brisk but with gentle hands. I had felt helpless and terrified, but remained locked behind a stoic countenance that had apparently fooled none of the women. 

Greta had sent me discreetly out of the room after I had snapped at her one too many times after Sansa's pains had began in earnest. She was deep in concentration, insisting that I fetch willow bark wine. Once I'd returned with it, she met me at the door, thanked me, and insisted I wait outside, as Sansa needed a calm and peaceful environment, not a snappish brute who barked at her every time a pain came. She informed me she would send for me promptly and shut the door in my face. 

I had glared at the door for a good long while, then grudgingly decided that Greta was more experienced in these matters than I was. I would do as she had commanded, only for Sansa's sake. 

"Sandor!" I heard Sansa cry out. 

Terrified, I hurried down the hall and burst through the chamber door, where Sansa lay, propped up by the maid, Greta between her legs, encouraging her. 

"That's it Sansa, almost there love, you've done so well and it's almost time to meet your babe... "

Never pausing her soft crooning tone, she instructed me "Sandor come let your wife lean upon you."

The maid shifted slowly away as I took her place, stroking Sansa upon her brow. Her face was tear stained and sweat soaked and she grimaced, bringing her hand up to clutch mine tightly. I was shocked at the strength of her grip, it was like a steel vise. My fingers creaked in protest, but I didn't even flinch, just gave her my other hand to grip as well. 

The maid rushed to gather linens and stood beside Greta who smiled up at us. 

"Sansa, one last push, come on sweet, one last push!" 

Sansa grit her teeth and did as she was told. I marveled at her. I had no idea what was coming. It felt surreal, like a dream. Suddenly Sansa gave a gasp and I watched as Greta gathered a small bundle in her linen clad arms. She used a reed to clear out the baby's airway as Sansa had mentioned might be done. A hearty cry filled the room, and Sansa laughed, even as she leaned back against me exhausted. A brisk cleaning, a swaddling in clean, soft blankets, and our child was placed in Sansa's arms. 

I stared down at the sight of the woman I loved holding our child and felt a pinprick of emotion gather behind my eyes. 

"It's a girl", Greta said, smiling a tired but happy smile. 

After a few moments, Sansa reluctantly handed me our daughter so the other women could clean her up. I took the baby anxiously, terrified of dropping her. 

Sansa smiled and tears shimmered in her eyes as she watched us. Greta and the maid began to work busily and slowly I carried the child toward the window, where the sun was setting. 

The baby squirmed and I tried to soothe her, though I wasn't quite sure how to. I watched her, and noticed her hair was as dark as mine. I realized I had expected our child to have red hair, as Sansa did. I stared in surprise.

The baby looked into my eyes. I felt my heart plummet and then immediately swell back up with a love I'd never felt before. 

As we gazed at one another, I felt fiercely protective of the bundle in my arms. She stared back at me in an earnest, calm way, her eyes a gentle blue gray, like the sea after a storm. I smiled at her and she studied me, as if memorizing my face. She showed no fear, no hesitance, just a natural acceptance, as if she'd known all along what her father would look like. I laughed and felt dampness on my cheeks. Dashing it away, I held her tenderly and kissed her tiny brow. 

Her rosebud lips puckered into a yawn and her eyelids began to droop. 

"Sandor" I heard Sansa say softly. I turned toward her, where she lay propped on pillows, tired but glowing. Greta and the maid had gone elsewhere. It was just us, alone in the room. 

I carried the babe to her, lowering her down carefully. Sansa drew the front of her gown open and carefully positioned the baby to her breast. I watched, fascinated. Sansa grimaced in pain as the baby finally took hold and fed hungrily. 

"Are you all right?" I asked her. 

She gave me a pained smile. "It won't hurt so much after a while." she told me. 

I came around to the side of the bed and sat next to her, mindful of not bouncing too much. 

"She needs a name," Sansa said after moment, turning her head toward me. 

"She does," I agreed. "Though we might need some time to decide upon a proper one, since you were certain you carried a boy."

She laughed. "Somehow, I expected you to father only sons. You're so strong and virile. It seemed only natural."

She leaned forward to kiss the dark head at her breast. She smiled and whispered to me "She's asleep."

I helped her fasten her gown and placed some pillows around her so she could safely hold the baby while they both slept. 

Once they were settled, I kissed Sansa again. Unable to resist the urge, I gently kissed the baby again. 

Sansa smiled gladly. 

"Would you like for me to stay?" I asked her. I was very reluctant to leave them, I found. 

Surprised, Sansa looked at me. "Would you stay?" she asked, slowly and hopefully. "The baby might wake often to eat or be changed. You might not get much sleep."

I kicked off my boots and settled closer to them into the bed. "I'm staying" I told her. 

Sansa sighed in contentment, laying her head against my chest. "I love you, Sandor."

"As I love you," I told her. I hesitated to express my feelings into words. Finally I said "Thank you for our daughter, Sansa. She is perfect."

Sansa was nearly asleep, but she murmured, "You're quite welcome, Sandor."

Smiling at my lady wife, I curled my family into my arms and drifted to sleep quickly. 

 

 


	30. Chapter 30

-Sansa-

_All around me was fire. The smell of death rose thick in the air. Menacing, laughing men lashed out from the flames, hitting and grabbing at me. I tried to turn away from the cruel sneer of Joffrey, only to be confronted by Ramsay's cold eyes. Finally, I ran, straight through the flames, my only thought to flee away from where I was trapped. I ran, lungs nearly bursting until the scenery changed. The forest met me, and I hurried past beckoning hands, reaching out from the black edges of the woods. I hurried past Dontyn, who gave chase behind me. I ran faster, hearing his booted feet pound upon the ground behind me, I had to hurry....faintly I heard wailing....it grew louder until..._

 

The piercing wail of my child lifted me out of my nightmare. Thankful to be free, yet exhausted, I came back to the present. 

Opening my eyes blearily, I forced myself to rise out of bed. I hurried to my daughter, who lay in her tiny crib 

Motherhood was steadily becoming a challenge I had not been prepared for. I had listened carefully to all the advice and talk I'd heard growing up. Some shocking, some useful, I'd stored it all away, knowing that someday it might come into some use. And it had, for I knew to expect the excruciating pain of childbirth, the initial sting of nursing my babe from swollen breasts that had known nothing but pleasure from Sandor until the birth of our daughter. 

I carried our babe back to the chair, in her nursery that Sandor had prepared so thoughtfully before I'd even returned to Winterfell. I had fallen asleep a few hours ago in exhaustion, after the baby had nursed in short spurts and wailed between feedings. I had relocated to the nursery because Sandor needed sleep. He'd been wonderful for the two weeks following the birth of the baby, helping as he could, waking when I woke, learning to change the baby and pace with her if she took a crying jag, encouraging me to sleep. He had been so tender and patient with the both of us, it made me want to cry. I did, often, because as wonderful as he'd been, I had been snappish and dreadfully impatient. I felt as if I no longer belonged to myself. It seemed I was constantly feeding, rocking, changing the baby. I wept often, for no reason. I tried to hide it, but an unexpected visit from Greta had not allowed me time to splash cold water on my face and she'd seen my swollen eyes, my forlorn expression. 

"Perfectly normal," she'd told me, when I confessed my guilt and inexplicable sadness. "Your body has undergone a drastic change, you're getting precious little sleep, is it truly any wonder you're feeling out of sorts? Completely understandable, love."

I began weeping in earnest. "I should be happy," I told her, gently rocking the baby who'd waken at my sudden outpouring of emotion. "I have a beautiful daughter, a wonderful husband. Some women suffer cruel husbands and have other children to care for. I have no reason to feel this way."

Greta came to my side, stroking my hair back. 

"Lots of women feel this way," she told me, giving me a reassuring smile. "Especially with their first child. It isn't easy, but you just have to hold on. The baby will start sleeping a bit more, you will eventually stop feeling so much like a milked cow," we both chuckled a bit. "What you need", she informed me sitting up straight, "is a few hours alone with your husband". 

I looked at her, startled.

"No, it isn't quite time for  _that_ ," she said, giving me a pointed look. "I meant a few hours alone to be Sansa and Sandor, not just mother and father."

I sighed. That did sound quite nice. 

"I suppose I could play nursemaid for a few hours," she smiled mischievously at me. "Seeing as how perhaps I might need the practice."

I gasped. "Greta! Are you..."?

"Not yet!" she hissed, and I was amused to see her cheeks color a bit. "Daniel wants to wait...for that, until after we're married."

"That's so....proper of him." I said, a giggle escaping me. 

Greta groaned. "Isn't it? So terribly, painfully proper."

We dissolved into laughter, until the baby woke in earnest, this time for her feeding. 

Greta left soon after, urging me to rest and that the following evening she would arrange for Sandor and I to have our private time together. 

"Sandor knows", she told me. "I asked him first, I didn't want you to think I was prying. I figured he needed it as much as you. You both look as if you haven't slept in weeks."

"It has been weeks," I sighed as she pulled the covers up around me. 

She smiled at me. "Rest," she whispered, taking her leave. "I will see you soon." 

"Greta," I murmured, and she paused expectantly. "Thank you for coming. Truly. You've been such a help, such a friend." 

Smiling warmly, she winked and closed the door softly behind her. 

Feeling a bit left down after her departure, I reminded myself of the upcoming evening. Sandor and I had barely conversed about anything other than the baby and the barest words about the running of the keep in these past two weeks. 

Remembering what Greta had said about Sandor looking exhausted, I resolved to move the baby and myself into the nursery tonight. 

 

After a nap, another feeding, and a bath, I called for my maid to come hold the baby so I could quickly bathe as well. 

She held the baby, looking uncomfortable. 

"Is everything all right, Brielle?" I asked. My maid was shy and timid, capable but quite meek. It was unlike her to show any outward expressions. 

"I..." she swallowed, and glanced at me apprehensively. "I was wondering, perhaps, if you were planning for...to find a nursemaid for the babe, my lady."

I looked at her thoughtfully. "I haven't had a need of one," I answered. Though it was not their place for maids to question those they waited upon, I knew why she asked. It was quite unusual for me to not have a nursemaid. I was surprised it had taken this long for the subject to come up. "Does the baby make you uncomfortable, Brielle?"

She looked at me with wide eyes. "Oh no, my lady. She's a beautiful child."

I smiled. "Thank you, Brielle. And you need not worry. I will not ask you to take on nursemaid duties along with your other duties. I simply haven't had a need for a nursemaid. Although, perhaps it is time I began to think of it."

Brielle nodded, and looked down at the baby. 

"Do you have brothers or sisters?" I asked her. I had long ago stopped thinking of maids as simply hired help. After my lady's maid in Kings Landing had turned into a friend, I had realized that maids had stories, lives, and it was prudent to know as much as possible about those who preformed such intimate tasks for you. 

"I do," Brielle responded. "I have three sisters, my lady."

I finished my bath, rising and wrapping myself in linens, heading for my dressing table. "Three sisters. That must have been interesting. I had three brothers. Five if you count Jon and Theon. One sister was plenty for me."

Brielle chuckled. "It was quite mad at times," she said, in a conspiring tone. "I'm the eldest. I think my father must have been disappointed with all girls though he never showed it. He loved us all the same as if we'd been sons."

I smiled as I finished oiling my skin with lavender oil and began dressing. "He sounds like a wonderful father."

"He was," Brielle said, nodding and looking back down at the baby. Her mouth tightened a bit, then she smoothed her expression. "I quite miss him."

Feeling guilty, I turned to her. "I'm sorry, Brielle. I didn't mean to cause you any distress."

She threw me a hasty smile. "It's quite all right, my lady. We cannot change the past, we simply keep moving forward."

"Quite true," I told her. I moved to the chair that was closest to the fireplace, and began to untangle my hair, combing it through. It took several minutes and soon the baby fell asleep. Brielle glanced at me and I nodded. She carefully laid the baby down into her crib. 

The door opened softly, and Sandor appeared. 

Eagerly, I laid down the comb and thanked Brielle. She nodded and left the room. 

Sandor yawned, coming closer and grazing my cheek, giving me a lopsided grin. "A bath sounds very good right now" he said. He leaned forward and kissed me. I returned the kiss, enjoying the feel of his arms and lips. 

Reluctantly, he pulled away after several long moments. "How much longer must we wait?" he asked, his low voice sending shivers pleasantly along my body. 

"Two more weeks till it's considered safe." I said, feeling petulant. "Greta said four weeks to heal, at least." 

He groaned, burying his face into my neck. "Gods." he mumbled. 

Laughing, I tugged him up to me. I cupped his cheeks in my hands and stared into his gray eyes. "I can think of other things we might do." I said. 

"Such as?" he quirked his good eyebrow up. 

"Tomorrow," I told him. I leaned forward and traced my tongue lightly along his lips. "I will tell you some things I've thought of."

He pulled me into his crushing grip, opening his mouth, his tongue mating with mine. I moaned, a sound swallowed by his kiss. 

A gentle knock came at the door. 

Sandor sighed and pulled away. "Perhaps it's a good thing. Greta would have been none too pleased had we tossed her advice to the wind". 

Giving him a gentle peck on the cheek, I rose to answer the door. Upon opening it, I let out a gasp of delight. 

Jon, Arya, and Bran stood in the hallway. Bran had his usual serene look, Jon and Arya were grinning widely. 

"I believe it's time we met our niece," Arya said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I thought I'd try something a bit different here: Who wants to name the SanSan baby? I had thought about several different names, including variations on family names, but I thought it would be fun to let you all have a say. If you have a suggestion, feel free to leave it in the comments below. We can vote/decide on our favorite and baby SanSan can finally have her own identity!  
> Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and this story so far. You all are amazing!


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, man!  
> So, I liked the names you all gave me, and it was difficult to choose one. Honestly, it was tough to decide! I hope you all agree that it was a good fit for the story, and who knows? Maybe SanSan will produce numerous offspring and I will be able to use all the names you all offered! ; )  
> Thank you all for reading and commenting. I'm so grateful to you all for helping me along in this story. You all have made this such a wonderful experience and I'm so thankful that someone actually wants to read what I wrote.

-Sandor-

 

It took every ounce of the self restraint I had carefully crafted over the years to not let my surprise show upon my face. 

Arya, Jon, and Bran stood outside the door, while Sansa appeared to be frozen. The room was heavy with a thick silence.

Suddenly, a happy sound escaped Sansa and she rushed towards the trio, flinging her arms around them. 

Everyone was talking and laughing at once. Sansa finally shushed them gently and led them toward the babe, who somehow had managed to sleep through the excitement. Arya peered down seriously at the baby, while Jon grinned broadly. Bran even seemed to manage a small smile. 

"What have you named her?" Arya whispered, finally glancing up at Sansa. 

Sansa glanced at me, a quick smile flitting across her face, then turned back to her family. 

"Hope" she said softly, her hand gently stroking the baby's downy hair. 

"Hope," Arya said, smiling down at her niece. "Not Elizabeth? You always said you'd name a daughter Elizabeth."

"You actually listened to my girlish prattle, then?" Sands chuckled. 

"I couldn't help it, you were always going on about something." Arya responded. 

"Not Elizabeth, not this time at least." Sansa said. "We had considered Spring, something beautiful that we've all been waiting for. But Hope fits, we thought."

"Aye, it does" Jon responded. "Quite well, in fact."

Sands smiled up at Jon. "How's Queen Daenerys?"

Jon smiled a tense smile. "She is well."

Unhindered by the short answer, Sands pressed on. "Her babe?"

"The babe is well, a beautiful healthy boy" Arya answered quickly. "She sends you her wishes of good health."

Sansa looked taken aback a moment but smoothed her expression quickly. "That's kind of her. Please give her my happy wishes as well."

"Of course," Jon replied, apparently eager for a change of subject. 

After a while, the small party left to ready themselves for the evening meal. 

Sansa turned to me the moment they left. "Did you know they were coming?" she asked me. 

I shook my head. "I did not. As far as the North believes, Jon is still their King. Nobody needed permission to allow him in the gates."

She sighed. "I am so happy to see them. I know it's not for long, but I'm so, so glad they're here." 

I kissed the top of her head and she leaned into me. I held her until Hope woke, and it was time to ready ourselves for the evening. 

 

***************

 

Two weeks had passed and I had kept myself busy, trying to allow Sansa time with her family. Soon Jon and Arya would depart, to join the Targaryen Queen in her efforts to take Kings Landing.  Bran would be staying at Winterfell, much to Sansa's relief. Sam Tarly, along with his wife and child, were due to arrive at Winterfell soon as well. 

More mouths to feed, I thought, as I worked outdoors in the freezing cold chopping firewood. I didn't mind, not as much as I thought I would, to my surprise. Perhaps marriage and fatherhood was addling my mind. 

I had escaped the Great Hall after days of awkward silences after Sansa had hedged around the subject of the Targaryen baby with Jon. It was clear that the man didn't want to discuss it. Arya knew why, but she wasn't saying much either, always quick with a vague response and a deft change of subject if the topic was broached. Sansa was frustrated, but respectfully didn't pursue the matter.  

At least Sam wasn't a stranger to hard work, I reasoned, after being at the Wall and the Citadel. I gathered the last of the woodpile into my arms and started back to the storage house with it. Also,  he cured Jonah of his greyscale. A clever mind mightn't be bad, either. Also, perhaps it will be good for Sansa to have another mother and child to be here. So she feels less lonely.

I sighed as I dropped the wood into a pile that always seemed to be shrinking, no matter how often I and a few other men tried to add to it. We needed more men around here, that was a fact. It rankled my pride a bit to admit that, but as a soldier I knew that one man didn't win a war on his own. 

After I finished my outdoor work, I came inside, grateful for the warmth after being out in the cold for so long. I hurried upstairs to check on Sansa and our daughter. Hope had blessedly began to sleep for slightly longer stretches at a time. I had worried about Sansa becoming exhausted, trying to help me run the keep and keep up with caring for our child. Thankfully, she had found a kindly older woman for a nursemaid and was able to rest a bit more. 

I approached the door, knocking once, as quietly as possible then entering. 

Sansa and the baby were asleep on the bed. I smiled at the sight of them. My heart was full, as I gazed upon them. I never tired of looking at my beautiful wife and perfect child. Sansa lay against the pillows, her red hair gleaming against the white linen. She cradled our child, with dark curls and thick black lashes resting against her cheeks as she slept. Her porcelain skin and delicate features were modeled after Sansa, but Sansa told me that her dark hair and stormy gray eyes were directly from me. 

As if reading my thoughts, Sansa's eyes fluttered and opened. Seeing me, she gave a sleepy smile. "Hello, my handsome husband." she said quietly. 

I lay next to her, giving her a soft kiss and gathering her to me. 

"Tonight Greta has offered to stay with Hope for a while." Sansa said after a moment. 

I glanced down at Sansa. "She has?"

"Yes" Sansa said, pulling me to her for a long kiss that left us both breathless. 

She shifted carefully, carrying the baby to the second crib I had fashioned shortly after her birth and laying her down gently. Hope slept on and Sansa came back to my side, wrapping her arms around me and pressing her lips to mine. 

I teased her lips with my tongue, enjoying having her to myself for the first time in weeks. I put my hands upon her newly slender waist and pulled her closer. Running my hand up her back, I tangled my hands in her silky hair and deepened the kiss. Our tongues swirled and stroked as I urged her onto my lap.

Sansa settled herself upon me eagerly, grinding her hips into mine. I felt myself gasp a bit, arching up to give her what she wanted. I was rock hard in my breeches and rubbed against her cleft, making her moan in a low tone. She rode against me, kissing me hungrily, stroking me everywhere her hands could reach. 

I found the hem of her gown and let my hands slide underneath it, enjoying the feel of her silky skin under my fingers. I grazed upwards, sliding up her ribs, her arms, and back. She sighed in contentment and arched against my touch, grinding her hips in a slow, deep rhythm against my manhood.

I felt the dampness of her against my breeches and wanted nothing more than to free my cock and bury it in her. But as tempting as that was, I wanted to savor this moment. I had only begun half of what I longed to do with her. 

With my hands under her gown, I cupped her breasts gently. She gave a gasp of delight. I gently brought her nipples between my fingers and rolled them slightly, feeling them peak sweetly as she practically panted, clinging to me. I brought my mouth down and pulled a nipple into my mouth, feeling it harden even more as I flicked my tongue against it, the fabric growing damp and hot. I gave the other breast my attention and Sansa moaned, her hands in my hair.

I needed my release soon, and she did too. I brought my hand to the junction between her legs, feeling the slick heat, letting her soak my fingers. Trying to be careful, I found her nub and circled it with my fingers, feeling her tighten against me, until she broke apart in little gasps. She clung to me, breathing hard and grabbed my cock, releasing it only to hastily untie my breeches. Her soft hand gripped me and stroked as she kissed me with renewed vigour. 

It didn't take long. I felt the building pressure, and suddenly I gave a hoarse cry as I came. I saw stars faintly as she stroked me over and over until my release was complete. 

Afterward, as we lay satisfied, I leaned toward her and said "What did you have in mind for tonight?"

She smiled. "I was going to tell you. Greta examined me and said I was ready to resume my normal activities as soon as I wished."

I laughed. "I could have given you a proper fuck just now, you mean?"

She frowned at me, though I saw a smile play at the corners of her lips. "Sandor, your language," she said primly. "And yes, you could have given me a proper...bedding, just now."

I stifled my laughter, pulling her to me. "My lady wife, nothing would please me more."

"Tonight," she said smiling. "After dinner. It's the last one before Jon and Arya must leave."

"Tonight" I agreed, kissing her temple. 

She smiled but I read the fear and sadness in her expression. 

"Sansa" I whispered, stroking her hair. "They won't be in any undue danger. The dragon Queen wouldn't allow it."

She sighed, looking down at her hands

"Arya is set on killing Cersei. Jon is a Targaryen descendant and an heir to the throne, whether he wants to admit it or not. And as soon as Sam gets here, you will leave to search the surrounding areas. I know you've put it off because of the baby." 

I winced slightly, because that was exactly what I'd intended upon doing. I wouldn't leave her alone, I'd planned on waiting for Samwell and hopefully some other allies to arrive before I'd set off. 

"I don't want to leave you." I said gently. "It's only a quick trip."

"I know" she said softly. 

Feeling bereft, I tried to change the subject. "Do you think," I asked, trailing my fingers down her thighs and up toward her sweet, sweet arse.  "that perhaps you could forget to wear your small clothes again tonight?"

She smiled. "Perhaps that can be arranged." 

"Good," I said nuzzling her. 


	32. Chapter 32

Sansa-

I awoke early the morning of Sandor's departure, though reluctantly. Hope had slept through the night for the first time ever, the bed was warm, and so was the man next to me. I snuggled closer to him, feeling him shift and tighten his arms around me. I knew he'd probably woken before first light, as he usually did, but he had stayed in bed just a bit longer. I was pleased that he had stayed to say a proper goodbye. My heart tightened at the thought of him leaving, but I refused to dwell on sadness. Now was not the time to give in to melancholy.

I tilted my head up and pressed my lips to his jaw, trailing kisses along it. It was rough with stubble and strong as steel under my lips. I deftly maneuvered my lips to the other jaw, kissing his scars tenderly, though not lingering. I knew he both loved and hated when I kissed his scars. I cupped his head in my hands and pulled him gently towards me, kissing him. 

Sandor wasted no time in untying my night gown. He ran his hands down my body, cupping and stroking with his strong hands. I pulled him toward me and shifted my hips none too subtly. He chuckled low and kissed me, then plunged into me. We both hissed out our breath at the sensation, then moved, hungrily joining to each other. I clung to him, sobbing out his name as I climaxed around him. He followed shortly after, hoarsely murmuring my name against my neck. 

We lay a moment, catching our breath. 

I turned toward him, stroking his hair. 

"I don't want you to go." I said before I could stop myself. My voice sounded plaintive and pitiful. I stopped myself from outwardly cringing. So much for putting on a brave face.

He pulled me toward him, sadness in his eyes. "The very last thing I want to do is leave. Believe me. But I must, you know I must."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. 

He kissed me tenderly, stroking my back and gazing at me for several long moments. Then he rose out of bed and washed and dressed. I watched him from the bed, a lump in my throat. 

He came to my side, drew down for a kiss. "Take care, be safe. Don't do anything foolish while I'm gone, little bird." He said gruffly, though his mouth quirked in a half smile. 

Pulling him toward me, I kissed him and whispered "Sandor Clegane. You come back to me safely. Don't try to be a hero, you're my knight and I need you here."

He nodded gravely, though his eyes were alight with warmth. "Yes, my lady wife."

We shared one more tender kiss, then he was gone.

 

Days went by slowly. 

I spent most of my time with Hope, carrying her around the keep, showing her everything. Some of the rooms had survived the damage from the whitewalkers, including the small room where Arya and I had spent many hours learning from our Septa.

"Your aunt Arya loathed her time in this room," I told Hope, smiling fondly at memories long past. "She'd find ways to torment our Septa, until she was released from the drudgery of learning to be a lady."

I skimmed my fingers along the table, my thoughts faraway. "She escaped into the training yard, with Jon and the other boys, until mother caught her and forced her back to her studies." I remember how annoyed I'd feel when she'd come back, dirty and scowling, to pout through her lessons. I couldn't understand why she fought so hard against becoming who she was supposed to be. Now I realize that she knew she was meant to be a different sort of lady. The kind that didn't wait for trouble, but found it and sorted it out before it reached too far. She was preparing herself for what was to come, same as I had. 

"Your sister is quite a girl" a voice intoned from doorway behind me.

Startled, I whirled around, clutching Hope to me. She let out a squeak of protest and I breathed out upon seeing Greta. 

"But then, so are you, my lady." Greta smiled and dipped her head. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to startle you. I find that walking helps...." she paused, biting her lip. 

"Yes, it does." I told her. Daniel had gone with Sandor on his travels. I knew she was missing him fiercely. I recognized it in her, as I missed Sandor just as much. 

Leaving the room, I joined Greta in the hall. "Would you like some company on your walk?" I asked her. 

She smiled. "Very much." she responded.

We strolled the halls a while in companionable silence. After a fashion, I asked her, "Where do you come from, Greta?"

She hestitated for the briefest moment before she answered. "Dorne, my lady. I am orginally from Dorne."

I felt a small satisfaction of my suspicion being correct. Her golden complexion and accent had made me think of Dorne from the start. 

"I suppose you're wondering how I ended up here." She said, smiling wryly. 

"If you're willing to tell me, I should think it would be quite the story." I said lightly.

"Well, it's not very long, but it is interesting, I suppose." She cleared her throat gently. "I was born in Dorne, to a low born mother who was said to be quite beautiful. I vaguely remember her, she died when I was perhaps ten years old. She was a mistress of Oberyn. Though he never claimed me, being a bastard and a girl at that, I suppose Ellaria saw me as a threat, or perhaps a nuisance, most likely. She let me work in the palace until I was about fifteen, until men began to notice that I was becoming a woman. Then I was rendered useful in other ways."

I stared at her in a mix of horror and sympathy. "Oh Greta, I'm sorry."

She waved her hand, and smiled. "Oh, I was quite fortunate my lady. You see, I had been set aside for a loyal subject of the Greyjoys. They came for me at 16, and that's when I met Daniel. I was intended for Theon, but that never came to fruition. Euron had his sights set upon a much larger quest than a passing fancy. So it was decided that I would be given to Tavner, a small, common house of the North who had loyal ties to the Greyjoys. I was to be given to the elder Tavner, and if he did not want me, then to his eldest son."

I felt a shudder of revulsion pass through me. I shifted Hope a bit, trying to hide it. But Greta was extremely perceptive. She gave me a knowing look. 

"Yes, that would have been an unbearable way to finish out my days." She acknowledged quietly. "However, Daniel arrived with a small fleet to fetch me and my "dowry" which of course was a small amount of loyalty gold for Tavner. As soon as they arrived at the gate, I was ready. I had decided to accept my fate, such as it was. I'd hidden a knife in my skirts. I would try to make my life as bearable as possible, and if it had been terrible, I'd decided to run." 

She stopped a moment and smiled fondly.

"The gate opened and there was Daniel. There were a few other men too, of course, but I didn't notice them, not really. Daniel is very handsome, but that wasn't what caught my eye. Dornish men are quite handsome, I'd seen handsome. He was so quiet and confident, unlike any man I'd known."

I thought of Sandor and understood. The quiet strength he possessed, the calm, strong demeanor so unlike most men I'd known.

Greta continued, "I knew that this was the person I was meant to know. This was the man for me. Just by looking at him, I felt safe, for the first time in years. Maybe ever. It felt like I was looking at my home. That sounds ridiculous, perhaps."

This too I understood. It was the way Sandor made me feel; safe, protected, loved. "Not ridiculous, no." I told her gently. 

"He took me aboard the ship, and we sailed North. It was a long journey. He visited me often, to make sure I was comfortable. He talks very little, but that is fine, I talked enough for the both of us. It was the first time I can recall that someone listened to me, didn't tell me to cease my endless prattle." Greta chuckled. 

"After a time, we grew closer. He opened up to me, as I suspected he'd never really done before. I knew we were falling in love and I began to despair my arrival North, because it meant that I'd soon have to leave my time with Daniel and likely not see him again. It was...a painful time. But fate intervened. We were attacked on the sea. A band of free men, seeing a small ship and an easy target. A great deal of the Greyjoy men were killed. Daniel hurried me into a small rowboat and secretly, together, we traveled as far as we could. We made our way North and Daniel sent Euron a raven, telling him of the attack, and that I had perished along with several other men. Euron replied that Daniel was to join his brother in the North and secure Winterfell, along with the Tavners, as had been his plan all along. He hid me in a shack in the woods and we waited. He had no intention of helping his father take Winterfell from the start. He'd plan to take me and slip quietly away. But then you killed the mad Tavner boy, and the only other witness, Daniel's brother. The other Tavners would not be interested in me, as one was betrothed to a girl from the village, and the youngest was set to fight in the Free Lands. Suddenly, Daniel realized we didn't have to run. We could stay in the North. Then Daniel met Sandor, and I suppose he found a kindred spirit in him. I'd never known there could be a man as quiet and, forgive me, occasionally as boorish as Daniel tended to be."

Perhaps I should have taken offense, but a small giggle escaped me instead.

"Daniel kept me hidden close to Winterfell. I stayed with the whores for quite a while, doing their chores and keeping to myself quite a bit. Then you arrived from Dragonstone and I knew I could help you. I'd been trained in childbirth and other medicines in Dorne. I know the Sands are known for dark medicines, poisons and such. However, I was trained by a kindly common woman, the best in Dorne, and trained well. I knew I was the best chance keep you safe were something to go wrong. And well...you know the rest." Greta finished. She looked at me hesitantly. "I fear I've talked too much! I apologize for burdening you with my tale."

I laughed. "A burden, no. That was quite a story, indeed. I've needed the distraction. And I suspect that you've needed to unburden yourself of it for quite some time."

 She sighed. "I don't know how Daniel would feel about me telling you everything like this. But it's only right that you know, my lady. The truth. I respect you too much to play you false in any way."

"With the exception of my wedding, of course." I told her. 

Her warm eyes began to sparkle in their familiar way. "Ah, but that was for the greater good of a romantic evening, my lady." she teased.

We stopped, finding ourselves in front of Bran's chambers. The door was shut. On impulse, I knocked. Silence met me at the other end. I began to grow uneasy.

I knocked once more. "Bran?" I called. "It's Sansa." 

The door flew open and Samwell Tarly stood before me. "My lady," he said a bit breathlessly. "I apologize to keep you waiting." He stood aside so we could enter

I slowly walked into the room. Bran sat staring before the fire, looking drawn and pale. I looked at Sam in alarm. 

He motioned me towards the door, and I followed him, as Greta bent over Bran to check him. "Bran, it's Greta. I'm just going to check you a bit, you look quite pale...."

I turned toward Sam expectantly. 

"The....visions." Sam began. "He is seeing things that others cannot even imagine. He can see things that are coming."

I stared at Sam. "Things that are coming?" I echoed.  "Are we in danger Sam? What does he see? He barely talks to me, what is it that he sees, Sam?"

He shook his head. "I'm not quite sure at the moment, my lady. That's what I'm trying to find out. They're getting more frequent and intense. He isn't saying much. However, he seems to be...well, not himself at times, during these visions. It's almost as if he's someone else." 

I wanted to ask more questions, but Hope began to whimper. I shushed her gently, rocking her in my arms. "Sam," I urged quietly. "Please watch out for him. Tell me what he sees, if he says anything at all, no matter how minor or insignificant it might seem." 

Sam nodded. "Of course, my lady."

"Thank you," I said quietly. I walked back over to Bran. Greta stood by his side, a puzzled look upon her face. I stroked Bran's hair once, quickly. "I will see you at dinner, Bran."

He didn't acknowledge me at all. 

In the hall, away from Bran's room, I told Greta, "He seems to be getting worse. Whatever affliction this is, it seems to have such a hold on him."

"Or he on it." Greta replied, still looking concerned. 

Startled, I turned to her. "What?"

"When I checked him, his eyes....they looked odd. Almost a cold, lifeless blue. And his skin was cold, ice cold. As I checked him, he began to regain some warmth, his eyes began to look like his own again. He told me, 'I'm almost there'."

"There?" I demanded. "Where is there?"

"I know not" Greta responded. "But you were right to ask Sam to keep an eye on him. He is determined to find something."

 

As I fed Hope back in my own chamber, I prayed with fervency that Sandor would find his way back to Winterfell, soon.

 


	33. Chapter 33

Sandor rode in the waning light back toward Winterfell wearily. Daniel flanked him, silent as ever. The trip had been a moderate success. Although, success would not be quite the word Sandor would have used. Perhaps 'a shaky truce' would be more apt. 

As a whole, The North, as Sandor had suspected, had not taken kindly to a former Lannister Kingsguard and a Greyjoy bastard arriving as the faces of Winterfell. They were even less thrilled at the prospect of Jon being a Targaryen, though most gave a grudging acceptance of Jon joining the family cause, as it was. There was some roaring and blustering, some initial threats and less than hospitable treatment, but in the end Sandor got what he came for: a chance to scout the countryside and the alliances Winterfell desperately needed. All in all, he'd calmly explained, the ultimate desire of the North was to protect their people and lands. Not such a worry with Daenerys Targaryen at the helm. It was far better to trust her with their fate than the Lannisters, who'd schemed for their demise. Jon would never have pledged himself to a monster, and even though she had dragons, Daenerys was no monster. It had taken weeks of hard riding and diplomatic talk, but finally it was over. All was as well as they could hope for, and Daniel and Sandor could go home. 

Stoically, they rode through snow that had began that morning and had not let up as the day wore on. They ducked into the woods as the last bit of waning light faded, resigning themselves to one more night camping in the cold before they reached their destination. In a silent agreement that had served them since they had been on their trip, Sandor saw to the horses as Daniel built up a fire and prepared their last bit of food. Afterwards they packed their meager supplies and prepared to wait out the night.

Sandor drew his furs around him, staring into the flames. He had first watch, since Daniel could drop into the sleep of a young soldier; Instantly, but awake at a moment's notice. Thus far they'd been fortunate enough to dodge trouble and Sandor hoped it would continue to be that way. 

He sighed, leaning his head against the tree he had propped himself upon. He missed Sansa and Hope fiercely. Sandor had heard that babies grew quickly in their first year amd hoped that he hadn't missed too much. Every day that he was away from them wore upon him, however. He longed for the warmth of Sansa and their bed. 

A faint rustle in the trees snapped him out of his musing. Sandor listened closely. 

Another very faint noise came, from behind him. Nudging Daniel with his booted foot, Sandor grasped his dirk in one hand, sword in the other, and shifted quietly toward the source of the sound. Daniel had awakened and made no apparent movement, though Sandor knew he slept with a dagger tucked to his wrist. Finally Sandor saw shapes materialise and both he and Daniel were upon their feet in an instant, swords close to their bodies.

"Good to know that you men are prepared, even in this weather. It's bloody freezing. I don't think I could fight off a crippled beggar in this cold" one of the men said as they came closer to the firelight. Upon closer inspection, a tall blonde man and a swarthy dark haired man, to be precise. 

Sandor relaxed his grip on his sword, barely. 

"Jaime Fucking Lannister." 

    *****************************************

 Jaime and Bronn were apparently on foot.

Sandor looked at them dubiously at that bit of information. 

"It's hard to go off the beaten path with the sound of hooves marking your every move," Jaime told him. "Besides, my horse would never have survived this weather. We were forced to abandon them a few villages back. However, the end of our journey grows near. Don't give me that look, I am not here to cause any trouble. At least, I hope not. At any rate, I hear congratulations are in order! You and Sansa Stark. Lord and Lady of Winterfell. Now that is something no one would have ever suspected. Makes me like it even more."

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Sandor asked him.

Jaime opened his mouth, closed it again. Finally he answered, "I am looking for Brienne."

Sandor blinked and stared a moment. "Brienne? As in, Brienne of Fucking Tarth?"

He could have sworn he heard Bronn snort.

Jaime sighed. "Yes, Clegane, Brienne of Fucking Tarth. I'd heard she was at Winterfell, and I wish an audience with her. Are the rumours true? Is she at Winterfell? Rumours are all we have to go on, you know, since we deflected from our Lannister forces."

"Now why would you do that, Ser Jaime?" Sandor asked wearily. 

"I dont wish to offend your delicate sensibilities, Clegane, but I will tell you this frankly; the Queen has gone stark, raving mad with power and grief. She will destroy what is left of the Lannisters if she isn't reigned in. Her bloody truce with Danerys Targaryen? All a ruse, and part of her master plan. I suppose you can take this information as a late wedding gift. Believe me when I tell you that no expense is being spared in this war she has planned."

Sandor considered this a moment. "Brienne  is on her way to Winterfell." He conceded.

"Excellent." Jaime replied. "Now, I realise it would be asking a bit much for you to house us inside the walls of Winterfell. It wouldn't be proper to completely bastardize House Stark. No offense," he said, sparing a glance at Daniel, who's expression remained impassive. "But we have a lodging in a nearby village. I am trusting you with our location, Clegane. Brienne is the only one who need know where we are. Once we've spoken, I will be off. Perhaps the Lannister forces will catch up with me and kill me. Perhaps they'll drag me back to Kings Landing, perhaps I will perish in this frozen misery called the North. Or, perhaps, I can successfully stop all that from happening. I rest my immediate fate in your hands."

"Fine", Sandor replied. "As long as you and your man don't step foot near the walls of Winterfell, I can deliver your message to Brienne." 

"Agreed." Jaime responded.

Sandor stared expectantly at Bronn.

"Yeah, agreed." He said.

Jaime gave the name and location of a small village half a day's ride from Winterfell. 

"Brienne is sure to attract attention in a small village. I hope you'd considered that." Sandor told him. He suddenly felt uncomfortable. Though the bloody woman had tried to kill him once, and nearly fucking succeeded, he didn't relish the thought of sending her into the Lion's Den, both literally and figuratively. 

"I would never put her in any danger", Jaime told him seriously. "As soon as we have spoken, she will return to Winterfell and I will be gone from here, as we had agreed."

Somehow Sandor believed him.

"Very well," Sandor agreed. "Now let's get some fucking sleep."

He remained on watch as the others slept. Once it was time for Daniel's watch, he laid his sword in his lap. 

"You may trust them, but I don't." Daniel told him in a low tone.

"Who says I fucking trust them?" Sandor told him quietly. "You still have that dagger?"

"Yes".

"Good." Sandor sank immediately into an exhausted but troubled sleep.

 

At first light, the men parted ways. 

"Why would he betray his sister?" asked Daniel as soon as several miles had passed. "She carries his child."

"Their children are all dead," Sandor replied slowly.

Daniel shook his head. "She is pregnant again. And unless your brother can father children in his condition, the only other possibility of the father is Jaime Lannister."

Sandor sat silently in the saddle for several minutes. He never questioned how Daniel got his information, because it came of use. But he could not piece together the story Jaime told him, now that Cersei being with child was added into it. 

Finally, he said "It's true. What he said is true. He wants to stop Cersei from destroying their family because there actually is a family. If she carries a child, there is a chance the Lannister name will live on."

"Brienne?" Daniel asked.

Sandor shook his head. "They were imprisoned together a year or so back. When he lost his hand. She tried to make him see sense back in Kings Landing, when we brought the whitewalker to Cersei."

Daniel remained silent for the remainder of the trip, which suited Sandor fine. He was exhausted and his thoughts were of his family and a warm bath.

Finally the walls of Winterfell came upon the horizon. Sandor almost sighed audibly. 

Once inside the gate, he hurried his horse to the stable and left him with the stable boy. He dropped his pack to be dealt with later in an empty barrel near the door. 

Once inside, he took the stairs to his and Sansa's chambers. It was first light, but Sansa was not there. He checked Hope's room. Hope was sleeping, while her nursemaid quietly worked on some stitching. She smiled and nodded at him. He nodded back, and looked upon Hope. Had she grown while he was gone? It seemed she had. Her dark hair seemed more plentiful, and curled gently about her head. She had grown plumper and longer in just a few short weeks. Her long dark lashes grazed the tops of her rosy cheeks. She was so beautiful. Sandor could scarcely believe he'd had any part of this, that he could help create something so perfect. 

"I think she missed you," a voice said softly from behind him. 

He turned to see Sansa standing out in the hall, smiling gently at him. 

"I saw you coming and went to order you a bath." 

Sandor looked down at Hope a final time, tucking her in her blanket more securely. Then he walked out and gently closed the door behind him. He gathered Sansa into his arms and carried her into their room. 

"Welcome home, my love" she said, smiling broadly. 

"Gods, I missed you" he groaned, kissing her feverishly. She was everything he had been dreaming of, and more. She didnt seem to care that he was a filthy mess, she kissed him back with a passion that left him breathless and aching with need.

A knock sounded at the door. Sandor groaned. "Fuck the bath." He growled, pulling her back to him. 

She laughed. "Your wife wishes to warm you up, love. That includes helping you bathe."

He arched an eyebrow. "Helping me bathe?"

"Yes," she said, moving towards the door. "Helping you bathe....thoroughly."

She opened the door while he walked toward the window, hoping to shield the eyes of the maids from his obvious arousal. After the last bucket was poured and the door closed, Sansa hurried to his side. She helped him undress and he lowered himself into the tub. 

"Gods," he groaned in pleasure. "I'd forgotten how good this feels." He leaned against Sansa, who soaped a cloth and lazily washed him while placing soft kisses upon his cheeks and lips. 

"You spoil me," he told her, smiling. 

"Would you like me to stop?" She asked teasingly, pulling out of reach. 

"Don't you dare," he growled, pulling her close.

After his bath, in which she did indeed wash him as thoroughly as promised, he dried himself hastily and dumped Sansa uncermoniously on the bed. 

"Sandor!" She protested, giggling. 

"Sorry," he said, helping her undress. "The bath, it must have addled my brain. That, or the attentive manner in which it was given."

She wiggled free of her gown and small clothes. He stared at her, blissfully. Finally he joined her under the covers, kissing her from her fiery hair to her ticklish toes. 

"I want you," she groaned as his mouth worked his way back up her body. "Sandor, please, it's been so long...."

He didn't need to be told twice. He fell into her as a man starving. 

She moaned rapturously and cried out his name, her long legs wrapped around his hips as he pumped furiously into her. Finally he felt her release and he let go of his barely reigned control, crying out hoarsely as he drove into her with his final thrusts. 

It was a long time before either of them moved. 

"I missed you" Sansa whispered, kissing him and snuggling into his chest.

He felt a sweet pang in his chest, wrapping his arms around her. "I missed you too, little bird. Very much."

She sighed in contentment. Drawing the covers up over them, Sandor fell into a deep sleep for the first time in weeks.

 


	34. Chapter 34

-Sansa-

Having Sandor home was like having warm sunlight after a long winter. 

Though it would be a long while before winter ended.

A few nights later we sat down to dinner, where Bran was conspicuously absent. I'd excused myself to check on him and found him slumped over in his chair, exhausted. I had helped him to bed with the assistance of a maid, who seemed to believe the exhaustion was brought on by his physical condition and not of another sort. 

"Shall I fetch a tray my lady, or shall I wait until Lord Stark has had a chance to rest?" The maid whispered.

I found myself taken aback by the use of the name Lord Stark. I hadn't heard anyone utter that name unless they spoke of Father, and then it was always in a past tense, reverent sort of way. 

Bran was in fact Lord Stark. The only living one, in fact. Was Sandor called Lord Stark? No, he was a Clegane. As was I, now. The thought troubled me a bit. This was what our enemies had endeavored to achieve, the eradication of the Stark name. Bran would father no children. Arya, if she were to take a notion to marry, would take her husband's name. The name Stark would die with Bran. I felt sobered at the thought. 

I shook myself out of my musing. Things had changed. If the name Stark meant anyone else would be brought to harm, perhaps it was best that the name did die.

It changed nothing, in my opinion. Were wolves not wolves, no matter what you called them?

"Perhaps it would be best to give him time to rest. After dinner I will arrange for a tray to be sent to Lord Stark." I told her. 

 

Dinner began as a quiet affair. Sam and Gilly sat to my right. Sandor to my left, and to his left, Daniel and Greta.

I waited until Greta had engaged Sandor and Daniel in conversation, or such as it was with the pair of them. I had asked her to distract them so I could talk to Sam without arousing suspicion. I hadn't told Sandor yet about what all had transpired in his absence regarding Bran. I didn't yet know how to talk to him about it. What would I say? That Bran was having visions that seemed to be taxing him of his strength and we there was nothing we could do but wait until they materialised? It sounded mad, and I feared that Sandor would want to stop them, to treat Bran, find a cure. He was a man who solved problems, who searched for solutions. It was one the many reasons I loved him. But there didn't seem to be any easy solution regarding this matter. 

"I suspect," Sam told me, "that the winter is the source of what is troubling Bran's visions."

"Why winter?" I asked.

"Well," Sam said, "I believe the cold and the snow are clouding the visions. In winter there are drafts, fog in the higher elevations, which is odd considering the lack of moisture in winter weather..."

" _Sam_ " Gilly interrupted.

"Right, well, I have been reading all I can about this...affliction, forgive me, and listening closely to him, though he says very little. However, this afternoon I'd stepped out briefly and Gilly stayed with him. She said be uttered a sound that could only mean one thing."

"Which was?" I prompted when he hesitated.

He sighed, looking at Gilly who nodded encouragingly. 

"Viserion." Sam said unhappily. "It's the name of..."

"...the dragon who perished to the whitewalkers." I murmured. 

"Yes, but that's not the only thing that worries me." Sam said. "When the Wall and Winterfell were attacked, Viserion was there. He was being ridden. Someone controlled him. Who would that be? The only one who has the power to create the whitewalkers. The Night King."

"So you're saying....the whitewalkers aren't gone? That the Night King and Viserion are still....alive? If that's what it can be called?" I asked incredulously.

"Perhaps. It's only a theory, I have not much else to go on, but it explains so much, you see. The coldness of Bran's skin. The blue, icy color of his eyes. Bran is trying to wharg into the Night King. Or perhaps Viserion. The trouble is, well, I believe the Night King knows. He knows that someone can see him and perhaps this can be dangerous."

" _Perhaps_ this can be dangerous? The fucking king of the bloody dead is, in your probability, alive, along with a dead dragon that murders with icy flames, and you're saying that  _perhaps_ it is dangerous?"

I winced at the sound of Sandor's angry voice behind me. I turned to see that he, Daniel, and Greta were staring in our direction with wide eyes. 

It seemed the time to be inconspicuous had ended.

"Sandor," I began, laying my hand on his arm. 

"How long has this, the visions, the idea of the whitewalkers, been going on?" Sandor demanded of Sam, ignoring me.

Wisely, Sam didn't hesitate or lie. "Since you left. They seemed to begin shortly after."

Sandor stood and left the table. 

I rose as well. "Excuse me," I told the table with a brittle smile pasted upon my face, and hurried after Sandor. 

I caught up with him in the hall. "Sandor. Sandor, please wait" I implored him, trying to match his long stride. He stopped, his back toward me. 

"Why didn't you tell me, Sansa? You've had ample opportunity, so why did it never occur to you to mention that the whitewalkers were still out there?"

"I only found out myself about the whitewalkers, just now." I told him. "The visions, they haven't been clear. Bran refuses to speak about them. I didn't tell you because I didn't know what to tell you. I didn't know how to explain it, because I didn't understand it myself."

"Allow me to explain," Sandor said scathingly, turning toward me. "The whitewalkers are the threat, the real threat. Everything that the seven kingdoms fight for, it is all for naught if the whitewalkers come for us. I was out there. I have seen what they can do. And believe me, it doesn't include civilized truces or even threats. They attack, relentlessly, until they get what they come for."

"Sandor-"

"Why would you keep this from me?" Sandor asked. He no longer seemed angry. He stared at me as he used to, long before we'd come to know one another. As if I was simply another person who mocked him, looked down upon him. My heart could hardly bear it. 

"I didn't want you to stop Bran from his visions. He is so determined to see them through, I was afraid-"

Sandor laughed, a dry barking laugh. "Afraid? You've yet to see afraid, little bird."

I glared at him. "That is an unfair thing to say." I responded coldly.

"Perhaps it is. But the battles life thrust upon us are often unfair, as you should know by now. And I cannot keep you and our daughter safe if you keep things from me, things I need to know." 

"Is it your pride that suffers more, or your sense of honor?" I snapped.

"Just don't keep things from me, Sansa." He answered quietly. 

He turned and walked toward the direction of the training yard. I wanted to grab something and throw it at his head. Instead I turned and walked in the opposite direction, toward my chambers. 

An hour went by. I felt my anger abate slowly, though I was still annoyed by the way Sandor had lost his temper. 

A knock came at the door. I crossed the threshold to open it, expecting Sandor. 

Instead, a smiling Brienne stood before me. 

"My lady" she said. "I leave for a few months and miss your first row with your husband. Shall I duel with him in your honor?"

I laughed, and to both of our surprise, threw my arms around her in a hug. 

 


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! I hope 2018 brings all of you good things, and thank you for being such lovely readers!

-Sandor-

At the training yard, Sandor completed a very thorough inspection of the weapons in the armory, then moved to the stables. He oiled the saddles, checked each horse and stall, then walked the perimeter of the yard until the cold air cleared his mind. 

What had he been thinking, losing his temper like that? 

Sansa had not been entirely truthful with him, and that was a fact. However, he should have handled the situation with a bit more tact.

She had not played him false, nor had she meant any malicious intent.

She'd simply handled things the best way she knew how, and he did believe that she would have told him of her discoveries later on in the evening. She'd never given him reason to doubt her before.

Is this what worried him? That their love would begin to crack, to spoil? That it was too good to be true and it was only a matter of time before she realized that she could have done far better than the likes of Sandor Clegane?

He knew that he was a lucky man, far luckier than he deserved. He had the most beautiful woman in existence as his wife. He had a beautiful child that he adored. He was at home in Winterfell, entrusted with its livelihood. Things could have gone far worse for him in this life, he knew. 

And that talk of keeping secrets. He snorted, his breath a puff of air that dissipated into the cold winter night. _You are one to fucking lecture about secrets_ , his brain snarled. He held one in his possession that would likely change the outcome of many lives. Jaime and Brienne of Tarth. What an odd pairing.  Shaking his head, Sandor started back to the house.

"I've fucked up," he grumbled to himself. He prepared himself go back inside, eat a healthy helping of crow, and hopefully get back into the good graces of his lovely wife. 

Entering the keep, Sandor began up the stairs, when a tall figure blocked his way.

Sandor sighed. Just what he needed, another complication to top off the evening. 

"Brienne of Tarth" he said drily. 

"Sandor Clegane." Brienne responded regally. 

He saw no other recourse, he would deliver Jaime Lannister's message and be done with it. Then he could get on with his life.

"We need to talk" he told her. 

She cocked her eyebrows at him. "Do we?" she intoned. "I was under the impression that you might want to make amends with your wife. I offered to duel on her behalf with you,  but she turned down the offer. Pity. A rematch might do us both good."

"This is important." Sandor told her, ignoring her barb. "And I am only going to give you this message once. Once, and no more. After that, I refuse to be involved."

Brienne looked at him suspiciously. Finally she said "Very well." and walked down the stairs.  

Sandor, against his better judgement, turned his back to lead her toward an empty room, over looking the empty yard. Then he inclined her head toward her, speaking as quietly as possible.

"I've been away, traveling the North, determining which way the wind blows. My final night out, right before I returned to Winterfell, I was approached by Jaime Lannister and his man Bronn in the woods. They were alone, and asked me to give you a message. He is at the home of the only miller in a small village that is half a day's ride from here. The village at the edge of the woods, where the septon that serves this area resides. Do you know where I speak of?" 

Brienne nodded silently. 

"He is there, waiting, and wishes to speak with you. Or as he so eloquently put it, an audience with you."

Brienne stared at him thoughtfully. 

"So there it is" Sandor said. "I will leave you to do what you wish with that information." He turned to go, leaving Brienne still staring into space. 

"Clegane" she said, before he walked out the door. 

He turned to her.

"If I believe you, and I'm not saying that I do, what made you deliver this message to me?" Brienne said.

Sandor thought a moment. Then he said, "I wasn't sure if I should or not. However,  something seemed...sincere about it. Jaime Lannister has always been a shit. However, I believed him when he said he merely wished to speak with you."

"All right," Brienne said. "I shall leave at first light. Better to hear what he needs to say as soon as possible."

Sandor nodded and left, hurrying to his chambers, determined right his most important wrong.

He knocked at the door softly, and upon hearing Hope fussing, he pushed the door open.

Sansa held her, trying to soothe her with a gentle swaying motion, singing softly. She barely spared Sandor a glance. He crept into the room, feeling like a lowly ass. 

Hope wailed and wriggled, as Sansa continued to bounce and sing. 

"May I try?" Sandor asked tentatively. 

Surprised, Sansa paused and looked at him. Wordlessly, she placed Hope into his waiting arms. 

Sandor cradled Hope, as she stared up at him, noticing the change in the person holding her. She went quiet and Sandor held her closer.

Suddenly she burped, quite loudly. Sandor chuckled and was rewarded with a baby coo and babble. He grinned, kissing the tiny brow of his daughter. Pacing the floor, he watched as her eyes began to droop and he slowly walked a bit closer to the fire.

Humming clumsily, a first for him, he waited until Hope was lulled to sleep. He gazed at her until he realized that she'd been asleep for quite some time and he reluctantly carried her to her room, placing her carefully in her crib. Making certain her fire was going safely, he tucked her into her bed and whispered "Sleep well, little one." 

He walked through the adjoining door into his and Sansa's room, where he saw Sansa waiting, furs bundled in her arms. 

He waited, saying nothing. 

"I plan to sleep with Hope tonight." She finally told him, then stiffly brushed past him and headed towards Hope's room. 

Sandor laid his hand on Sansa's arm, gently stilling her. "Sansa, wait. There is something I must tell you before you retire for the evening." 

She paused, standing woodenly at his side. 

"I had no right to lose my temper with you the way I did. I had no right to lecture you. I know that you were doing what you thought was right and that you worry for your brother."

"But?" She said expectantly.

"But....what?" Sandor replied, confused.

"Is that the end of your speech, or are you going to tell me that you were right but I should forgive your boorish behavior and warm your bed tonight anyway, because you admitted you were wrong?" She said.

He looked at her in surprise. "I expect nothing of you, Sansa. Not in that way. I merely wished to tell you I was out of line this evening. You didn't deserve that."

She didn't move. 

He sighed, rubbing his hand down his face. Finally, against the grain of his pride, he admitted, "It scared me to hear the talk I heard tonight. Not for myself, but for you and Hope. Your safety, your protection, it's the foremost thought in my mind. And when I heard that Bran had seen the Whitewalker and the dragon, I remembered how bad it was when we were stranded beyond the Wall before Daenerys rescued us. It made me terrified to think of you and Hope in that kind of danger. I love you Sansa. I don't deserve you, but I love you so much, and I am scared that the only good things in my life will be taken from me."

Sansa dropped the furs and gathered him into her arms. 

"You are not going to lose us, Sandor." She mumbled against his chest. "I have waited too long to find happiness and I refuse to allow anyone to take it from me."

He smiled. "Stubborn little bird," he told her, kissing the top of her head.

She smiled up at him. "Yes, I am. And I love you, even though you can be quite a brute." 

He chuckled. Remembering his talk with Brienne, he sobered. 

"I need to tell you something else" he told her. 

"About Jaime's message to Brienne?" She asked innocently. 

"Yes," he replied slowly. "How did you...?"

"Greta," she replied calmly. "Not even a half hour before you came in."

"Seven hells" he grumbled. "Daniel talks to her quite a bit for someone who barely utters a word in other company." And Greta was loyal to Sansa, he'd give her that. She wouldn't allow Sansa to be slighted unfairly.

Sansa smiled sadly. "Perhaps we could both take a lesson from them."

"Perhaps," Sandor grumbled. He intended to have a word with Daniel the following morning, several strong words to be precise.

"Don't be upset with them, my love," she murmured, cupping his cheek and gazing up at him with blue eyes that were brighter than any jewel. "Let's forget our upsets and go to bed."

Sandor could think of nothing he'd love to do more. "Yes, my lady wife."

She kissed him deeply. "Do you know how much I love hearing you say that?" She asked him breathily against his lips.

"What woman wouldn't love to hear her husband profess his undying devotion to her will?" He asked.

She swatted his chest. "I was trying to tell you that I love it when you call me your wife."

He smiled crookedly, pulling her close. "I never thought I'd hear anyone, especially the beautiful Sansa Stark, claim happiness at being the wife of Sandor Clegane."

She kissed the tip of his nose and grinned. "I believe you meant to say 'Lady Sansa Clegane', my lord husband." She drew back and looked up at him seriously. "Thank you for telling me everything Sandor. I do mean that. I love you, and I am sorry I caused you to doubt me in any way."

"I could never doubt you, Sansa," he told her. 

She sighed. "I promise, I will never keep anything from you again."

Sandor brushed her silky hair away from her face, letting his fingers trail over the soft skin of her neck. "Nor will I keep things from you, little bird," he promised. "Now let's forget this ridiculous quarrel and go to bed. I have much to make up for."

She shook her head though her eyes shone with mirth. "Brute, as I said. Let's go to bed and you can show me." She teased him, untying the laces of her gown, dancing out of his reach, until he caught her with a mock growl. 

He loved her long into the night, until he was certain that any lingering tainted feelings were replaced with his love and adoration.

 

 

 


	36. Chapter 36

Sansa-

"Riders! Riders approaching the gates!" 

The bellow rang out in the otherwise quiet night, jerking Sansa from her slumber. 

She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her face, nearly tripping over the covers in her haste to get up.

Sandor stood at the window, his gloriously nude form perfectly still. Always the soldier, she saw him assess the situation. Watchful, prepared. Deadly if need be. It was such a contrast to the loving man that had been in the bed with her only hours ago. Sansa stared a moment, then shook herself, hurriedly going to the basin, splashing cold water here and there and dressing. She ran a comb through her hair and braided it quickly. 

Sandor washed and dressed before she could even catch her breath. He ducked into the nursery, had a few quick words with the nursemaid, then they were out the door. 

Daniel met them in the hall, sheathing his sword quickly. 

"Any talk of riders coming this way, it escaped my ears." He murmured to Sandor as they walked quickly outside.

Sansa pulled her fur hood over her, suppressing a shudder. Was it her imagination, or did the air have an unusually sharp chill this morning? Perhaps she was not fully awake yet, still dreamily in her warm bed with Sandor, who never seemed to be cold. She drew in a few bracing breaths, letting the cold clear her mind. 

Arriving at the gate, the guards stood ready. Archers held their bows taut, hidden above in the towers. 

All was quiet until hoof beats began to sound in the distance. Finally, they slowed, and approached the gate. 

"Who goes there?" A guard thundered out.

"I'd say the same of you, boy! Just who the hell are you?"

Sandor stilled a moment. Then he ducked into the door leading toward the upper stairs. A moment later, he strode out in the open, looking down at the riders for several long moments. Finally he called, "Open the gate." 

After a pause, the cranking sound of a gate being opened rang out. The bars remained in place.  Two riders sat atop two horses. All looked worse for the wear. Sandor hurried out of the tower entrance and nodded at Daniel. Turning back to the guards, he called again, "Open".

As the bars came up, the two riders hopped off their horses and led them in. One stared at Sandor, the other looked around curiously. 

Finally, they stood before Sansa, nodding politely. She nearly sagged with relief, though her posture and expression gave nothing away. 

"My lady", said the older one, bowing regally despite his bedraggled appearance. 

The other nodded, and continued to look around. Clearly, some things had changed aince he'd last been to Winterfell. 

A stable boy came for the horses and Sansa turned silently, leading Ser Beric and Tormund Giantsbane inside, as her guests this time. Last time the Brotherhood and the Wildlings had been together in Winterfell, it was in the dungeon. 

Sandor had been there too. 

Things had indeed changed. Immensely. 

Sansa ordered some food for them all, quietly instructing for Beric and Tormund to receive larger portions than the rest. Then she hurried back to the Hall, where she'd left the men. 

Sandor looked at her pointedly as she gracefully took her seat beside him. 

"Right. Well, as I was saying, before you interrupted, we have much to discuss." Tormund said. "Of course we waited on the Lady of Winterfell, but I don't think it wise for all ears to hear what we have to say."

He looked pointedly at Daniel. 

Daniel stared back, without even a hint of expression. 

"I must learn to do that, the...look." Tormund announced, mimicking Daniel's blank stare. 

Daniel gave a ghost of a smirk. 

"Daniel stays." Sandor said simply. 

"Very well," Tormund replied flippantly, his attention recaptured elsewhere. "Ah, hot food!" 

Serving girls carried in a larger breakfast than was usual for the residents of Winterfell. They began serving and everything looked delicious. Clearly the cook was excited to have guests to serve.

Tormund stared down at his large plate with an elated expression. 

"It's been a piece, since our last meal, eh Beric?"

"Yes," Beric responded, his good eye staring down at the helpings of eggs, bread, and porridge being piled onto his plate. "We are most grateful, to be sure."

 "Please, eat. We can talk after." Sansa assured them.

Ser Beric and Tormund ate heartily, as if they hadn't had a proper meal in quite some time. Sansa offered seconds for both men, though they both declined, looking a bit green. She offered warmed wine spiced with ginger, which they both gratefully accepted. 

After wine, they both looked at each other. Beric seemed to be the one they decided would speak. He told them all they had learned while in the southern part of the land.

Cersei had an army coming their way. Jaime Lannister wasn't lying when he said that he had escaped from Lannister forces. They were hunting him and had it on good authority that he was near Winterfell. 

"That isn't all," Beric told Sandor, his expression grim. "They're being led by your brother. I didn't believe that Cersei would let Gregor leave her side especially now that she is...more vulnerable. We had to see it for ourselves, was it true."

"And?" Sandor punctuated quietly.

Beric fixed him with a steady look. "Yes. They are perhaps two day's ride south of here."

"I know what you're thinking," Tormund interjected as more wine arrived. He grinned broadly at the serving girl, who smiled politely back at him. He took a long gulp, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Now is your chance to murder the bastard. And you'd be right! I've got the perfect solution."

"Tormund..." Ser Beric warned in a low tone. 

 "You know as well as I do, it's the only way."

"What in seven hells are you talking about?" Sandor growled.

"Beric's sword, that's what I'm talking about." 

Sansa was a bit confused. What sword? However, the other men regarded each other solemnly. The silence was thick with different emotions. 

Just then, a servant arrived, bowing low. 

"My apologies, my lady, but your brother wishes to speak with you...as soon as possible, he said."

Sansa nodded at the men at the table and hurried toward Bran's room.

He laid in bed, a roaring fire going, covered in several blankets. Sansa was nearly knocked over by the heat, but Bran shivered. She touched his forehead and dropped her hand quickly. It was like touching ice. She glanced up at Sam, who hovered woriedly. He looked wilted and sweaty. He also looked exhausted. 

"Sam, get Gilly," Sansa told him. "She can leave baby Sam with Hope and the nursemaid."

Sam nodded and slipped out of the room. 

Sansa dropped to the chair by Bran's bedside.  "Bran," she whispered helplessly. "I'm here. I'm here Bran. Tell me how to help you. Please. Let me help you."

His eyes flew up to her face. "You can't help me" he told her in his usual detached tone, though his voice was weak. "It's me who must help you."

Sansa frowned, as she searched her brother's face. "What do you mean? Bran, talk to me. Tell me what you see!" She gripped his hand tighter than she meant to.

Suddenly Bran's eyes widened and went blank. 

"Bran..." she released her grip and cupped his face in her hands. 

A piercing scream came from the hall. 

Sansa knew, without a doubt, it came from the direction of the nursery. 

She raced through the halls, not caring who saw her running. Her heart thumped erratically, fear coursing through her veins.

She reached the nursery. The nursemaid and Gilly were there, huddled on the floor.The window was broken, and glass was scattered about. 

The women glanced up at Sansa, who was chilled by their horrified expressions.

"The Night King was here." Gilly said, shivering. "He broke the window just by touching it! But then...he fell. Like something pulled him away. He just....fell."

Sansa hurried over to the window. The cold wind blew with a high pitched howl. She peered cautiously out. 

A dent in the snow below. Then nothing. No footprints. 

Where was he? 

"The babies..." she whispered. 

Sansa nearly wept in relief as she heard crying, coming from inside the wardrobe.

Hurrying toward the small wardrobe she flung the doors open. Little Sam sat on the bottom of the wardrobe, clearly terrified. Hope lay loosely wrapped in a blanket at his side, wailing indignantly. 

Sansa grabbed them both and cradled them to her. 

"We've got to get away from here" she told the women. 

Gilly took Sam into her arms, trying to soothe him. They all filed silently out of the room and hurried down the hall. Sansa led them to Bran's room. He lay still under the blankets, looking much the same as he had only minutes ago.

He started at the sound of the children.

"Get them out of here." He rasped, not opening his eyes. "Protect them. Take them away."

Sansa stared at him, as Gilly suddenly paled, comprehension dawning on her face.

"I knew it," she breathed. Tugging Sansa's arm, she slowly backed them out the door.

Sandor and the other men were at the end of the hall, looking alarmed. 

Meeting them in the middle of the hall, Sansa hissed, "The Night King is here. He tried to take the babies. Something stopped him."

"It was Bran," Gilly, normally so quiet, spoke with certainty. "He has been wharging into the Night King. He stopped him, I know he did."

Everyone stared at her for a moment in astonishment. Then Sandor moved, ushering them all downstairs. He kissed Sansa gently and told them to wait there as he went to call for guards.

Tormund looked at Sansa worriedly. "What makes you think he is still here?"

Sansa's eyes searched their surroundings, holding Hope close. "I saw where he fell. But no footprints, no other disturbance in the snow. Where could he have gone? It doesn't make sense."

Sam looked at Gilly. "I believe you." He told her. "It makes perfect sense. How long have you known?"

Gilly shook her head. "I didn't, not for certain. But the way he'd turn cold and his eyes....it all started to come together. When the Night King fell, I knew it then."

Sansa stood with the others, anxiously.

What were they going to do? Sansa shivered and rocked Hope gently. 

Sandor returned, Greta right behind him. She rushed over to Sansa, hugging her, then Gilly, then the nursemaid. 

Sansa felt some warmth come back into her at Greta's touch. 

"I'm going to care for Bran," she told Sansa. "I will do all I can to build his strength. He is the only one who can tell us more about this...Night King." She looked pale but determined. 

Sansa gripped her arm gratefully. "Thank you, Greta."

She nodded. Gilly grabbed her other arm, looking at her seriously. "Don't speak of us, or the children." She told Greta. "No matter what. Don't give him any details about us, just pretend you know nothing. Please."

Greta looked uncertain. She glanced at Sansa, who nodded. "Very well" she told them. Hurrying into the kitchen, she gave one last worried glance over her shoulder before disappearing. 

Sansa looked at Gilly, raising her eyebrows.

"Something is different." Gilly explained. "It's as if....as if the Night King can see Bran. From the research we've done, that isn't typical. Typically, only Bran can see the other path. I just...I don't know. The way he wouldn't even look at us when we came in. I think it best if we stay away from him for a while. I don't mean to sound horrible, I just think the less Bran knows, the safer rhe children are."

Sansa swallowed, staring off into an empty point. She was afraid, angry, confused. 

"We will have to hide somewhere," she finally spoke. "But where?"

Daniel spoke up. "You leave that to me, my lady" he told her confidently. 


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being MIA for so long!
> 
> This one is short and perhaps a little vague. Bear with me! : )

-Sandor-

Men had searched the castle, combing every nook and cranny, around every dark corner. Still, the Night King was nowhere to be found. Sandor followed the searchers, making sure for himself that no tricks were being used to veil the Night King from their eyes.

Even though they found nothing, Sandor was still quite far from at ease.

"I can't fucking believe this. That man...thing... was dead. Dead! More than dead! Now he's returned and where is the bloody dragon? The dragon! It's probably still out there too." Tormund paced the Great Hall. Sandor let him, unable to offer any straight answers, trying to decide what to do first. Prepare for his brother and the Lannisters, or prepare to burn the Night King. 

Both, he determined grimly. I must do both. 

Once he had decided his course of action, he simply had to make sure his plan was executed properly. For hours, the men went over every detail and possible outcome they could think of. Maps littered the table, meals were eaten hastily, several trips had been made to Sam's study to retrieve documents that might give a clue they'd missed. Finally, ravens were sent to the Lords and Ladies of the North. Sandor doubled the sentry, sent the men to dine, and hurried to where Sansa and Gilly were hidden.

He used the tunnel under Winterfell, down in the tombs. He felt a particular shiver of apprehension being down there alone, the Stark men and women who'd lived and died in such times as the North faced now. 

Perhaps not exactly the same, he thought, clutching his dagger made of dragon glass as he hurried through tunnels lit by torches.

Finally he arrived at a hidden trap door. He knocked the secret knock that only he and Daniel knew about, and waited for the return knock. He rapped out the final pattern and the trap door cracked open. As soon as Gilly saw his face she widened the opening, allowing him access, then hastily shut it behind him. She bolted it and threw a rug over it, concealing it from view. 

Though the small den would be considered cozy by some, it was tiny as Sandor crawled through the opening. Finally the walls rose and Sandor was able to stand. 

Sandor was shocked when Daniel showed him the small cave running under the tombs of Winterfell. Greta, after much coercing, revealed that she had spent some time in it when she first arrived at Winterfell. It was not very big but secure from draft, and and despite the tiny stream running through it, not too damp. He agreed it would do well for now for the women.

Though he wished things to be different, he was just glad Daniel was willing to disclose this location. Just how he found it, Sandor wasn't sure. If they lived through this, Sandor would find a way to discover every hidden spot Daniel knew of.

Sandor hurried to Sansa, who was pale with fear. She sat tall and rigid beside Hope, who lay on a blanket watching in fascination as little Sam played with intricately carved wooden toys. 

Sansa smiled at him bravely. She stood, and the nursemaid, who had insisted on staying with the two women and children, quietly moved to sit with the little ones. Whether she stayed due to fear or loyalty, Sandor knew not, but he was grateful for the woman all the same. 

Sansa took him around a small corner in the tiny room they were in and threw herself into his arms with an intensity that mirrored his own. He all but crushed her to him. They stayed like this for several moments, the only sounds their erratic heartbeats and the occasional coos from the children. 

Finally, Sandor forced himself to draw back and look at Sansa. She faced him steadily, her blue eyes shining, her face calm. His courage bolstered at her completely trusting expression, finding strength at her silent confidence in him. 

"I wanted to check on you once more tonight" he murmured, his hands going to her shining hair, trailing his fingers through the strands. He cupped her face, kissed her, resting his forehead against hers, reveling in their closeness.

To think that he had something so sweet to fight for, something to keep safe, a reason other than duty and pride at his ranking.

Years of fighting, and he had watched soldiers yearn for lovers on the battlefield, privately thinking them fools for allowing such weakness to cloud their thoughts, hinder their judgement. He had never imagined the way it might feel to go off into battle and leave his wife and his child, behind. It was like having your heart ripped straight from your chest.

His breath hitched in his throat and for an insane moment he thought he might weep. He steeled himself and the moment passed. 

Sansa smiled. "We are fine, love."

Sandor managed a smile. 

She stroked his cheek soothingly, peering into his eyes. "I would be lying if I said I wasn't terrified. However, I know you will come back to me." She gazed at him seriously and he knew better than to argue. And why, to torment them further? Her assurance was like a balm to his anxious heart. 

"I will do everything in my power to end this madness and return to you, little bird. I swear it, I will fight anyone to the death who dares to comw between us."

She smiled at him. "I know you will." She whispered. 

There was much to be said, but both hesitated, knowing that there was not a way to voice or reconcile the equal parts of despair and hope they felt. Sandor kissed Sansa once more, sweet and lingering, then walked over to Hope who lay on the blanket, listening to a song little Sam and the nursemaid sang. Seeing her father, Hope smiled, something she had recently began doing in the past few weeks, and the sight never failed to melt Sandor's heart. 

"Hope", he murmured, picking her up and holding her to him. "Be a good girl for your mother." Not knowing what else to say, he kissed her plump little cheek and laid her back down carefully. He leaned down so their cheeks touched. "I love you" he whispered into her tiny perfect ear. Then he straightened up and smiled at her. 

Hope pouted at being laid down. She whined a bit, until the nursemaid managed to distract her with the song she'd been singing. Soon Hope and Sam were drawn back into the tune, and Sandor crept quietly to the trapdoor. 

Gilly wait beside it, giving him a strange, steady look. He hurried through the door, and was back in the slience of the tombs. He heard the lock click into place and he hurried back.

He would return to his family. He refused to consider any other option. His brother, the Lannisters, the dead King. He was tired of fighting, tired of enemies, tired of constantly looking over his shoulder. 

He was ready to live.  

 


	38. Chapter 38

-Sansa-

Despite her earlier show of confidence earlier, Sansa was quaking inside.

She tended to the children, using their each and every need and want as a distraction from her worries. She sang softly, every light and happy song she could think of. Soon the nursemaid and little Sam were singing as well.

She had begged Gilly to not mention the earlier moment of weakness she'd shown, the moment Daniel and Sandor had left them there in this cave and hurried away. Sandor had popped his head through the opening just before Gilly shut the entrance, narrowly missing braining him with the heavy wooden door, just so he could tell Sansa that he would return before the day was through. She'd nodded, everything looking a bit wobbly through her barely restrained tears. They'd stared at each other silently, until he nodded in return and slid back through the entrance. Gilly hestitated the briefest moment before sliding the door shut and latching it firmly. She took one of the rugs that lay in a basket, along with other supplies the women had hastily gathered, and thrown it down smoothing it over the door. Then she took the largest rock she could carry out of the nearby trickle of a stream and laid it over that.

"Nobody will be able to get in or out without our noticing," she explained to Sansa and the nursemaid, as she caught them watching her with quiet apprehension. "I don't know about you two, but I want a bit of warning if I can have it."

Sansa had nodded. She turned to lay Hope down on a thick blanket Sandor had carried in. Then she promptly burst into tears. She tried to be silent. She had been so wooden and stoic just before Sandor had come back into her life. It seemed that he brought her emotions to the surface. She sniffed and blot her face delicately with the sleeve of her dress. Emotions that she had long tried to bury were making themselves known. Perhaps the safety of Sandor's love had freed Sansa from protective walls she had built around herself.

The thought brought forth tears anew and she struggled to reign in her weeping.

Gilly paused a moment, feeling a bit awkward; should she draw attention to Sansa when she clearly did not want it? How does one comfort a high born lady who ruled this land Gilly now lived in?

Like any other woman who needed comfort, Gilly decided, as her good nature won out and she strode to Sansa, pulling her into a motherly embrace.

Sansa stiffened only a moment, then allowed Gilly to pat her gently. "There, there, my lady" Gilly said soothingly. "All will be well. This war will be over soon and you will finally have your home back again. This time, pray, for good."

Sansa leaned back and wiped her eyes. She took a deep breath and managed a smile. "Thank you, Gilly" she said softly.

Gilly smiled back at her. Then she went over to little Sam, drawing smooth wooden toys from the basket to his apparent delight. He smiled and grabbed them when she danced them in front of him.

Sansa sat down gingerly on the blanket, watching along with Hope as little Sam played with a horse and buggy. There was even a little wooden man and a little wooden woman to go along with them.

Sansa recognized the quality of the craftsmanship.

"Daniel?" She asked, nodding toward the toys.

"Yes," Gilly replied, smiling at little Sam. "He seems to have a natural talent for woodwork."

"He does" Sansa agreed quietly. It seemed Daniel was a man of many talents and surprises.

Initially, Sansa had been uneasy when Daniel had revealed his knowledge of a secret cave in the tombs of Winterfell. She'd been unsure of how to feel, now knowing that Greta had been hidden down here for what had apparently been over a week until Daniel had deemed it safe for her to come out during the rebuilding of Winterfell.

After what had to have been a large portion of the day spent in the cave, Sansa wondered how Greta had kept from going mad down here alone.

She had the other women and children for company, at least. But she was beginning to grow restless. She had taken to pacing back and forth as she jabbed her needle in and out of the embroidery she'd brought, scarcely seeing what she was sewing as her mind raced with thoughts of what was happening above ground.

Sansa fed, changed, and rocked Hope to sleep. Then she brought out a portion of the food and split it evenly amongst the others and herself. They'd agreed to feed little Sam when Hope grew hungry and themselves eat less frequently, since they had no true sense of time down here. They also needed to make their supplies last, since they had no idea how long they were going to be in their hiding place. Gilly had wisely decided to mark each feeding Hope had, in order to mark time. Since Hope ate 4 or 5 times a day now, they could use the feedings to mark time. They agreed that 4 feedings amounted to one day. Sansa privately thought that if too many days passed with no news, one of them would have to venture above ground and search out answers.

They couldn't stay down here forever.

The unknown frightened Sansa. She worried about Sandor, even as she envied him a tiny bit for being able to move about freely on the grounds of Winterfell.

He had visited, just as he promised, right between Hope's third and fourth feeding. Sanss put on a brave face for him. She wanted him to know she believed in him, completely. She had smiled and kissed him, and told him without words that she knew he'd come back for her. Her mother always did that for her father, before he rode off on travels or to battle. It cheered him, gave him a small measure of comfort, a warmth to carry in his heart, a gentleness to reflect upon once the hard days ahead became very heavy to bear.

After Sandor left, Sansa felt her small measure of cheer fade. She smiled and cooed at the children, made polite small talk with the women, but her heart felt so heavy she was sure the others could see it in her eyes. After some time, baby Sam began to yawn and fuss, a sure sign of sleepiness. "Must be nighttime," Gilly murmured, soothing him and trying to convince him to lay down with her.

Little Sam put up quite a fuss, waking Hope and shrieking his refusal to lay down or be rocked by his mother. Possibly being in a strange place with so many others near was making it difficult for him to fall to sleep. Sansa, not knowing what else to do, began to sing. Softly she sang, a tune her mother had sang to her and her brothers and sister when they were not feeling well. She sang it once, then twice. Hope began to relax, her eyelids drooping, until she finally went back to sleep. After the third time, little Sam stopped his wailing and thrashing about. The fourth time, he fell asleep before the song was finished. Gilly laid beside him for several minutes before carefully sliding away, and drawing a blanket up over him bit by bit until he was covered.

When he didn't move, she sighed visibly with relief.

"Do you think the crying could be a problem?" She asked Sansa after a few moments of silence.

Sansa had been wondering the same thing. Any noise, while muffled, could surely still be heard from the outside of the cave. "We will do what we can," she finally answered, "Since they're babies, they will cry. But we must work rogether to be very attentive."

Gilly nodded agreeably.

Soon the women were huddled around the children. A few fresh torches had been lit, serving for both light and a bit of warmth.

Sansa lay staring into the dimness for so long she began to see things. It looked as if the cave walls were moving.

She frowned, rubbing her eyes.

She closed them a moment then opened them again. She wasn't imagining things. The cave walls were moving. Trembling, as if....

A violent shudder erupted above them.

It was muffled but the deep vibration shook Sansa all the way to her very heart. She gasped, crawling closer to Hope. Hope stirred but did not awaken.

Gilly clapped a hand over her mouth just in time to muffle a shriek. She sat up and stared at Sansa. Sansa returned her gaze, heart pounding. Neither moved for the longest time.

Gilly peered down at little Sam. Then she looked back at Sansa and the petrified Nursemaid.

"I am going to up there, to find out what is going on," she said determinedly. She shoved her shoes back on her feet and stood.

"Gilly, no! We don't have any idea as to what is happening up there!" Sansa hissed in whisper.

"No," Gilly replied just as quietly. "We don't. That's why i need to go. We are not going to stay down here and wait to die."

She moved to the door. Glancing at Sansa's expression, which was both furious and terrified, she turned to the nursemaid. "Shut this behind me. Bolt it and cover it. Don't open it unless you hear the knock."

The nursemaid glanced at Sansa. Sansa did not acknowledge her, so she moved to do as Gilly said.

Before Gilly left, she turned back once more. "Take care of little Sam" she whispered.

Then she was gone.

The nursemaid shut, bolted and covered the door. Then she walked back over to Sansa. "All we can do now is wait, my lady" she said.

"Yes," Sansa agreed, sinking back down onto the blanket, staring at the sleeping children. "Now we wait."


	39. Chapter 39

-Sandor-

The attack, had come from seemingly nowhere. In one breath, he'd gone from standing outside the gates to flat on his back, shielding himself from fire, ash, and smoke. 

There was no ice, no screeching, no signs of the Night King nor his newly adopted dragon. This was a giant burst of fire, clumsy but effective. This was of man. 

Sandor lay stunned on the ground, his eyes streaming from the smoke and grit, his hearing dulled from the deafening explosion. Slowly, he turned his head. Daniel was by his side, also on the ground. His eyes were closed and he wasn't moving. Blood slowly seeped from a gash on his head. 

Sandor called his name, at least he thought he did, but it was hard to tell since he could barely hear himself. Forcing himself to move, he rolled toward Daniel, feeling his chest.

A faint rise and fall of breathing. The reassuring drum of a beating heart. 

Relief swept through him. He knew he should thank the gods, and he would later, when there was more time. He finally got his limbs moving and pulled Daniel along with him behind the gate. Hiding him in a corner, he propped him upright and bound his head with a strip from his tunic. 

He faintly heard Tormund shouting from a distant point. He focused and then the shouting grew stronger in volume. Suddenly his hearing was back, and the sounds hit him full force. Screaming and fire and madness. It was Blackwater all over again. He gritted his teeth and charged toward Tormund's voice. 

Several Lannister soldiers were giving everything they had, swinging swords and darting around Tormund. He looked a true Wildling, teeth bared, bellowing as he swung his battle axe and sword. 

Sandor joined him and soon the Lannister soldiers were no longer a concern. 

However, a new worry had arrived. 

Gregor towered above Sandor suddenly. With the same mindless strength that he'd always possessed, he swept Tormund to one side with a giant hand. Tormund landed hard upon the ground. 

The battle raged all around Sandor. Lannisters fell, his allies were falling. But Sandor only saw the man before him. 

"I told you we'd meet again, didn't I?" Sandor asked him, his eyes never leaving Gregor's silent, bloodshot gaze. "And now you're here. We can finish what we started so long ago, brother."

Gregor shot forward, with surprising speed for a man so large. Sandor was ready, however, and stepped just out of his reach, slicing cleanly into Gregor's side with his sword. Gregor grunted, but otherwise gave no reaction. 

That wound should have killed him, Sandor thought in astonishment. There was no blood, no sign of injury. Gregor merely turned his furious gaze upon Sandor and gripped him by the throat, raising him slowly off the ground. Sandor lashed out with his sword, jabbing into Gregor to no avail. He began to feel the air leave his body, surely Gregor would crush his throat at any moment. The hand that held the sword weakened and his weapon fell uselessly to the ground. 

Suddenly, before the blackness that swam in his vision swamped him completely, there was a flash of fire. Sandor thought it a hallucination, a final reminder of the torment Gregor had inflicted upon him, until he felt Gregor's grip upon him go slack. He hit the ground, gasping and choking, rolling away as quickly as he could. 

Ser Beric stood before Gregor, his flaming sword held before him. Gregor stared down at a huge hole in his abdomen, dumbfounded. 

Sandor raised himself up, still gasping. 

Beric turned toward Sandor. 

"I know you wanted to be the one to do the honor," he said almost apologetically. "But obviously I couldn't stand there and allow him to kill you."

Sandor nodded, still unable to squeeze words from his throat. 

"Here," Beric said, tossing Sandor the sword. 

Sandor caught the sword, flames and all. Then he ran it through Gregor's chest. 

Gregor fell to the ground. Sandor stared at him, waiting to feel relief, jubilation, some strong emotion that he'd imagined he'd feel. Instead he felt nothing but a curious detachment. Strange. 

"Well, that's done" Tormund had come back to join them, limping slightly. He indicated to a group of Lannister soldiers, standing at attention before them, looking more than a little frightened. "What shall we do about these?"

Sandor straightened himself, coughed, drew in a breath, coughed again. 

"Give them their fight. Make their journey worth their while" he rasped. 

*****************************

The odds were not in their favor. 

Many men died. Many men that had served the North faithfully. Sandor felt remorse so great he was sure it would hit him again and again in the coming days. Widows and fatherless children, it was no good, no matter how he would try to make amends.

Winterfell was damaged, beyond repair in many places.  
They would somehow rebuild again.

But the important part was at the end, when Sandor, Tormund, and Ser Beric were left standing. 

Daniel was still unconscious but alive, his head wound being treated by Greta, teary eyed but with steady hands. 

Gilly had gone to Bran, stupidly leaving Sansa alone with the children. He'd been furious until he realized that Gilly could read Bran's visions just as well as Sam. She'd heard the explosion, had gone to stop Bran, who she had believed responsible, had believed he'd been acting under the hold of the Night King. Sam and Gilly had watched him until they believed he was safe - for now.

He had no idea where Brienne, Jaime, and Bronn were.   
But as he climbed the stairs that evening, he was met with a pale and drawn Sansa, and he just didn't care about anything else this evening. 

Sansa had coaxed him into a bath, sliently examining his wounds, bathing the remains of battle from him. Her tender care was balm to his wounded spirit, in ways he couldn't describe, even to himself. 

Exhausted, he stood to dry and dress, then crept to the nursery to check on Hope. She slept safely in her bed, the ever watchful nurse by her side. He felt a renewed bloom of gratitude. He returned to his room feeling lighter than he had in weeks. 

Sansa had bathed and was perched on the edge of the bed. She looked fresh and pretty in her prim nightgown. She would look beautiful in anything at all, he thought, feeling the familiar stirring of lust and need as he looked at her. He'd been too tired to even blink, now he was wide awake and full of hunger for his lovely wife. 

He came to her, bending down and kissing her tenderly. 

She returned the kiss mechanically, without heat. 

"Sansa" he said, confused. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?" He drew back to look at her, concerned. 

She managed a small smile that faded as quick as it had came. "I'm fine," she assured him quickly.

He frowned, waiting. 

She sighed, wringing her hands delicately. "Sandor. I was sick with fear. Being in that cave, unable to do anything, not knowing if you were alive. Oh Sandor, it was so awful! I know it was nothing in comparison to what you went through, how hard you had to fight. I've no right to burden you with this, I just...thought I was going to lose you. I couldn't bare it, I nearly went out of my mind...." she broke off, a sob escaping. She clamped her lips together, looking down into her lap, her hands clenched together. 

Gently he pried her hands apart. She left them lying prone in her lap, still staring down at them. He took a finger and placed it under her chin, gently tilting her head up until her eyes met his. Very seriously, quietly, he told her "You've every right to feel what you feel, my love. I want you to always share your worries with me. Never feel ashamed of them, or as if anything you think is unimportant. You are not, have never been, useless. You are brave, and beautiful, and so strong. And I will make sure that you will never have to go back into that cave again, ever."

Sansa still had tears in her eyes, but she smiled at him. 

"I was exhausted, I just wanted to fall into bed holding you," he told her. "But perhaps, tonight, we should first give thanks to the gods for being safe and alive."

She looked at him in surprise. 

"Then, after we give our thanks, perhaps we can celebrate the fact that we are alive." He added.

"Celebrate? How so?" Sansa asked him.

He bowed his forehead to hers, giving his silent thanks. Then he opened his eyes, and kissed her passionately. 

"I have few ideas" he murmured, his hands sliding underneath her gown. 

Perhaps their worries weren't completely over, but that evening, Sandor was not going to waste the sweet, sweet feeling of being in love and alive.


	40. Chapter 40

-Sansa-

Days passed slowly in Winterfell. Once the chaos had settled from the battle, things began to slowly return to normal. As normal as things could be for the new North, as it was.

Sandor stayed busy, almost avoiding Sansa entirely. He left to work early in the morning and didn't return to their bedchamber until very late, after she'd retired to bed. One evening she'd awoken from a sound in Hope's room, and when she'd gone to find out what it was, she was greeted by the sight of Sandor cuddling Hope. He smiled at the baby, talking to her softly, as if he was responding to the things she babbled in her baby talk. Sansa had felt a painful sensation in her chest and quietly closed the door before he noticed her. While she was grateful that Sandor was such a sweet, devoted father to Hope, she missed her husband. It had been well over a month since they'd truly shared their bed, and each other. An entire month. She didn't know why Sandor had suddenly endeavored to avoid her as much as possible, but she was determined to find out.

The snow had stopped for now, leaving behind a brown dampness outdoors, making everything squishy with mud and melt. Sansa hated going outside and dirtying her boots and hems in the mess, but she found herself walking out of doors daily, sometimes two or three times daily, to cover the grounds of Winterfell. She liked keeping a close watch on her home, and she found the long walks calmed her, helped her to burn off some of her frustration and worry. She could be alone with her thoughts, and she could walk and think more clearly.  She didn't have to stay in the keep and slowly lose her mind.  

Greta, who would have been a welcome distraction with her cheerful prattle, mostly stayed close to Daniel's side. He'd lain unconscious for nearly two weeks before he'd finally awoken, much to the collective relief of those around him. Though the times the women could speak were precious few,  Greta shared with Sansa that Daniel was a bit confused. Parts of his memory were not exactly clear. And he'd been bitterly disappointed at being rendered useless for over half the battle. She'd insisted on his rest, despite him being a terribly grumpy patient, for his mind and and spirit as well as his body. Though Greta found him difficult most of the time, she confessed to Sansa that she knew it was the right thing to do, keeping him in her care for the time being.

"Sometimes, even the one you love doesn't  want to believe they need you," she'd said to Sansa. "They have their pride, their ideas of how things should be. They don't like to admit that sometimes they just need you to take the reins and lead the horses for a while."

After a particularly trying day, Sansa wearily carried herself upstairs. She had met with no fewer than twenty men and women, all with complaints and problems. She hadn't fully realized how much had been lost until she'd spoken to tearful widows with families to raise, injured men who weren't sure if they'd ever be able to work for a day's wage again, and people with bleak eyes who'd lost everything. It broke her heart over and over as she listened. She had been as patient and as generous as she could afford to be. After all, these people had given their lives to fight for the North. It was the very least she could to do, to ensure they didn't starve or suffer in the cold. 

Winterfell was being partially rebuilt, yet again, and while Sandor had organized the bulk of the work, there were still unumerable tasks that waited to be done as things progressed. While she and Sandor had shared the burden of the running of the keep before, now she found herself quite overwhelmed with all the new responsibilities.

You are capable, she told herself firmly. 

She'd gone to check on Bran when she could finally spare some time. If she felt as if the weight of the world was upon her shoulders before, it was now even heavier. Bran had taken a turn for the worse, she knew this the moment she entered the room, no matter how maddeningly vague Gilley and Sam were being about his condition. He was thin, his skin looked waxen and pale. So pale, it didn't seem possible to be such a deathly color. Even more alarming, the coldness of his skin. The fire in Bran's room roared day and night, putting off as much heat as possible, and Bran was piled in several blankets. Even so, he never warmed, he stayed still and ice cold. She fretted inwardly, her outer demeanor staying calm and rational. She talked to Bran, held his chilled hand in hers, willing it to heat up in her own, but it never did.

Finally, she told him good night, promising to return as soon as she was able. Sansa reluctantly made her way to her chamber, dreading the thought of another night alone, worry her only companion.

Reaching her rooms, she opened the door and was greeted by the sight of Sandor, damp from the bath, dressed only in his breeches. He stilled at the sight of her, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly, before he calmly went about dressing, tugging a shirt over his head.

Sansa stared at him helplessly, taking in the sight of his strong, muscled body. She hadn't seen him as such for such a long while, it was difficult not to stare. Finally she noticed he was dressing to leave, and found her voice. 

"Sandor, I need to speak with you," she began in what she hoped was a pleasant tone. She didn't want to come across as too demanding or accusatory. Though it was the closest thing she'd come to in a conversation with him she'd had in weeks, she thought irritably.

Slowly, she told herself. Stay calm. 

He shrugged the shirt on, muscles rippling as he moved his torso, and she was struck again at his magnificence. He bent down to grab his boots and walked to where she stood. He bent to brush a chaste, impersonal kiss across her lips and stood, his face unreadable. 

"I'm sorry, Sansa, but it will have to wait for now." He told her quietly, but firmly. He began easing his way past her to walk out the door. 

Sansa felt the emotions she'd been trying to bury hit her all at once. Humiliation, rejection, sadness, anger. Anger came fastest. It was the safest one to go with. She grabbed his arm, catching him by surprise. She reached past him to shut the door quietly as she could, but firmly. Sandor looked momentarily taken aback, then scowled. 

"Sansa-" he began in a warning tone. 

"Sandor," she returned bitingly. "When are you going to speak to me? Take me to bed? Touch me? I don't know what I've done to displease my husband, but I think the best course of action would be for you to tell me."

He stared at her. "You've not displeased me, Sansa." His voice was awful, monotone and hollow, but his eyes flashed with something. Something alive.

"No?" she countered. "Sandor, you've barely even looked in my direction since-"

"Sansa," he interjected, his voice tired and ragged. "I can't. Gods, I just can't."

He made another attempt to leave the room, and ordinarily Sansa would have let him go, her pride piqued at being pushed away and dismissed. Instead she moved herself bodily in front of the door. Without breaking eye contact, she swatted the boots from his hand and they fell with a thump to the floor. He glared at her in annoyance, but she stood her ground fiercely. This was not a lover's quarrel, this was her husband. This was her marriage. She just didn't care if she was being childish, or heaven forbid, unladylike. Sandor needed her. He didn't realize it, but he did. 

She took his arm more gently, and stared into his eyes. "Sandor, please. Talk to me."

He stared obstinately back at her. 

Sansa licked her lips slowly, trying to decide what to say next. She saw his eyes follow the movement, heat slowly filling his gaze. She warmed herself with it, allowing the hand that held his arm to trail down the length of him, taking his hand in hers, carefully drawing him closer to her. He didn't move, though she could have sworn she felt him tremble slightly. Their bodies finally touching, Sansa moved her hands and pulled his head down, her fingers threaded gently in his hair, till his lips ghosted just above her own. For several long moments, they stood like this, lips barely touching, reveling in the nearness of each other. She felt his hardness pressing onto her, growing harder as their breaths mingled. She squirmed as the wetness between her thighs grew and a small sound of need escaped her.

The sound seemed to stir him to action. In a few swift motions, he had her undressed and on the bed. She lay breathless, heat flushing her body, and watched him dazedly as he removed his tunic and breeches to come stand before her. She lay with her legs askew upon the bed, lips parted, anticipating. 

He stood above her for the longest time, his expression pained. She began to feel unsure, but refused to move from her position. 

She perched herself upon her elbows, forced herself to keep her eyes on him. She parted her legs in silent invitation, feeling slightly ridiculous. What if he no longer wanted her? What if she was throwing herself at him for naught?

"I need you" she told him simply. She'd said it before she could even think. But it was the truth. Sansa needed Sandor as much as he needed her. She sat up fully, leveling herself with him. Their skin warmed against each other and Sansa pressed soft kisses onto Sandor's cheeks and neck. She made her way to the crook of his neck, lingering, letting her tongue dart out to taste his skin. He moaned from somewhere deep inside, his hands coming to rest upon her hips. Emboldened by this, she moved to the other side of his neck, repeating the kisses. This time she let her teeth barely graze the sensitive spot on his neck. 

Sandor's breath hissed out and his hands melted down her, smoothly moving over her and firmly cupping her backside. She would have sighed with relief, but she was too aroused. Instead she trailed her nails slowly down the length of his torso, while her mouth trailed kisses along his jawline. Finally their mouths met. His firm lips took over, kissing her until she was aware of nothing else, just the incredible sensation of his lips on hers, his tongue soft and strong as it teased. Sansa realized she was moving convulsively, hips rocking out of some inborn instinct. Sandor's hands, still gripping her backside, encouraged her, kneading into her firm flesh. 

"More, Sandor," she breathed into his mouth. 

Sandor stilled and hestitated, breathing hard. She pulled back to look at him, his face tight with need and restraint. She lowered herself back onto the bed and looked at him. Sandor stayed where he was. Feeling frustration and longing course through her, Sansa sighed, feeling as if they didn't finish what they started they'd both be miserable. 

"Sandor," she said, and added, before she lost her nerve, "Fuck me."

Sandor blinked at her use of his crude term and the smallest of smiles tugged at his lips. He lowered himself onto the bed, holding himself above her. 

Tucking his head beside hers, he said, "I'm sorry, my lady wife. I didn't quite hear what you said just now. Would you care to tell me once again?" His breath tickled her ear and he bit her earlobe gently, making her shiver and squirm beneath him. 

She turned to face him, staring at him very seriously. "Fuck me, Sandor. Please." she said, holding him with her gaze.

His demeanor changed, his amused gray eyes taking in her own pleading blue ones, and his smirk slowly faded. He traced her cheek tenderly, his fingers moving up to brush away tears she hadn't known where there. 

"That's what I thought you said," he murmured. "I'll not fuck you Sansa."

She lowered her eyes, shame coursing through her. 

He tilted her chin up, his gaze boring into her. 

"I'll not fuck you, but I will make love to you, my sweet wife."

She choked back a sob as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling him to her again. He kissed her all over, lingering at her breasts, lowering his head further still, his head between her legs, making her cry out as each stroke of his tongue stoked her higher and higher. Finally he drew himself up to her, impatiently, and whispered "Love, I cannot wait any longer, I need you now."

"Yes, Sandor, gods, now please" she said brokenly and he slid into her. 

It was so bloody good. She'd nearly forgotten how good it was. The moment he was inside her she threw her head back and moaned, then he began to move. She clung to him as if she were drowning, gasping out his name over and over. Finally she felt herself lose all control and gripped him even tighter as she pulsed around him. He bucked his hips hard against hers, plunging as deep as he could. He filled her up so fully, she felt herself fall over ledge once again, throwing her arms around his neck and crying out. Her inner walls gripped him as he came, and he shouted name hoarsely before he slammed into her one final time, his release filling her. 

Sandor stayed inside her for a moment, panting and threading his fingers through her hair, kissing her so tenderly she felt new tears threaten. He rolled off her, going to get a damp cloth from the basin by the fire, then returned clean her very gently and thoroughly. Though she felt more than a little tender in that place between her legs, she felt herself stir to him once again. 

"Mmmm," she whispered. 

He chuckled. "Ready again so soon, my lady?"

She smiled drowsily at him. "Perhaps we should rest a bit first."

He turned to clean himself and discarding the cloth. He got into bed with her, pulling the covers up over them. She snuggled close to him, feeling him drop a kiss at the crown of her head. 

"I love you, Sandor." she whispered, her hands stroking his chest, sleep threatening to claim her at any moment. 

"As I love you" he whispered in return, his arms warm and strong around her. 

Before she drifted off, she managed to force her head up and mumbled out "We'll talk later."

He smiled at her. "Sleep, love" he told her tenderly, brushing her hair back.

And she did. 


	41. Chapter 41

Sandor-

The sun was setting on another day, and finally the North tower of Winterfell was repaired. Sandor straightened up, sighing a long silent breath of relief as he stretched his aching back. Gods, he was tired. He wanted nothing more than a quick bath and to sleep for hours in a warm bed. 

Men were packing up, as exhausted as Sandor after several weeks of long, hard work. Winter semed to be in no hurry to leave, and the cold wind had doubled their workload. They had endured days of trying to hold steadfast in the ice-blowing gusts and focusing on gripping huge wooden beams with numb fingers. But finally, Sandor was satisfied with the holdings again. Security of the structure was now his foremost concern, where before he'd been intent on rebuilding an exact replica of his wife's childhood home. 

There were new, jagged towers protecting Winterfell, forged with steel and iron. They were almost beautiful in a dangerous, foreboding way. Sandor asked Sansa to come take a look at them in the waning light.  He knew she'd not object outright, but he searched her face for signs of displeasure. She'd shown none, however, simply took her time walking around and observing. Then she'd nodded in assent to the work. 

"It looks like teeth. Teeth of a beast" she told Sandor. 

"Wolves teeth," Sandor said, looking at her with a small smile. 

She smiled back. She took Sandor's hand, and this time Sandor let her. 

**************************************

After the battle, Sandor had found himself at odds. It was a feeling he couldn't easily explain. So he'd started to stay away from Sansa, knowing she'd recognize that something was amiss. 

At first he'd been so grateful to find his family safe, so thankful to be alive. He'd not felt anything but perhaps a bit of relief when he'd survived battles before. It was part of what made him such a fearsome fighter. He hadn't cared much before about his own skin, damaged as it was. He was single minded in his pursuit of killing, barely feeling the slashes and hacks of arrows and swords. He'd survived fire, Night Walkers, and now his hells spawn brother, the one who'd begun his torment.

Sandor began to realize that he was beginning to feel something other than anger and brutality when he fought. 

He had a shell of a life before. He'd defeat the enemy in front of him, then make his way to the more discreet and reputable whore houses of Westeros. He'd pour wine down his throat and take the brief company of any whore who'd not been too afraid of him and perhaps even impressed by his reputation and prowess. He'd satisfy his needs, then go back to his rooms to sleep it off until the next duty called.

It might not have been much of a life, but he'd taken whatever scraps he could, dog as he was. He knew the more he shocked others, the more he could prove himself even more fearsome than he'd been in the last battle, the better the scraps thrown his way would be. It was his life, for what else did he have to offer? What else could he expect?

Then he'd met Sansa.

She had been barely more than a girl, full of dreams. He'd taken one look at her and known that she'd perish in the Lion's Den. He rembered his first trip to Winterfell. It hadn't gone well. Bran had been seriously hurt, Sandor had been forced to kill that boy, that butcher's boy, while Ned Stark had been forced to kill his older daughter's direwolf. All thanks to that cunt Joffery, but he knew they'd hate him for the remainder of his days. He snapped and growled, fully expecting to bring them to tears, or repulse their delicate sensibilities. Instead they had growled back. Even ladylike Sansa.

He didn't know much about love in those days, but if he had, he knew it was love that he felt for her. From the first.

She was beautiful, eager, full of life and silly romantic notions. She was ridiculous. But there was something about the way she looked at people and smiled, something so gentle and sincere. He'd felt a pang at his heart for the first time since he was a child as he'd watched her being paraded in front of the Lannisters. He knew she'd lose any spark of joy in Kings Landing. But she'd surprised him. He'd been wrong about her. She proved to have spine and grit after all. He never dared to approach her with anything other than relayed orders or short answers to any polite word she might chirp at him for sake of appearances. He was relieved she'd learned quickly the ways of the court, and he told himself that was good enough. 

So he'd been content with his lot in life; good wine, a few clean whores, his prestige as a part of the Kingsguard. He'd enjoyed good food, fine armor, the best weapons. He'd not given two shits about Joffery, but to guard the king closely had given him a bit of rank and respect. Best of all, he was given closer access to the little bird. He'd learned to ignore the insults of others, or anyone brave enough to insult him to his face. He'd forced himself to ignore the reactions of anyone who'd glimpsed his face for the first time. He'd once even made a child cry, just by turning in its direction, enduring the passing ridicule of being ugly enough to frighten a child. All the while he'd told himself it didn't matter, that he didn't give a shit what people did or thought. 

But it did. It did because Sandor had found himself caring about a certain newcomer to the castle. 

And he'd started to live his life for Sansa, without even realizing it.

He watched her closely, making sure she never stepped over the line of Joffery's restraint. Once the king would descend into his spells of real madness, there was very little anyone could do to reason with him. 

He'd even gone to her room after Blackwater, so long ago, to implore that she come with him, that she escape the filth and lies of Kings Landing. Of course he'd been drunk and he still cringed when he remembered that night. What he'd said was true. He'd keep her safe, they were all afraid of him, and nobody would hurt her as long as he was around.

She'd not left with him that night. He never really thought she would, truth be told. But a small part of him ached at leaving her behind.

Sandor had thought of her more often than he cared to admit, but he'd never really expected to see her again. He had also never expected to set foot in Winterfell again, either. He had nearly laughed aloud to not only find himself there, but to also to discover Sansa and her she-wolf of a sister there, too. They'd survived gods knew what to take their rightful places once again.

He'd hated like seven hells to leave Sansa behind once again, only this time she was home and safe. Once again, he'd told himself that this was enough. She was safe. It was all he could hope for her. She would be all right, and he had to move on to whatever lay in store for him. 

He could barely fathom it when Sansa had clung to him as if he were the bloody knight  of flowers, in the songs she used to love. He felt as if he had been living in a dream-like stupor ever since.

Sansa had given herself to him, in every sense of the word. It elated and fucking terrified him. He was certain that at any moment she would realize that she could certainly do better than the likes of him, that one of their enemies would take her from him. Then Hope was born and and he had a new appreciation for love and an even stronger worry of harm coming to his family. 

The battle against Cersei's soldiers had made him realize two things. The first, that he was no longer as concerned with brutality and inflicting as much pain and violence as possible. Killing was no longer a sport, simply an unpleasant means to an unpleasant end.

The second thing he'd realized was that he was no longer fighting for just his own life. He had a family to protect, and what would happen to them if he were to be struck down by an enemy? He actually had scores of people relying upon him. He was no longer indifferent to death, now he was actively trying to avoid it. 

He'd started to distance himself. He worked long hard hours in the cold, rebuilding Winterfell. He'd recruited as many new men as he could as soldiers and trained them. He'd retrained the soldiers that had survived the battle of Winterfell. He had barely stopped to eat or sleep. He rarely saw Sansa and when he did, he was short and gave excuses as to why he didn't have time for her. He was busy, they must rebuild quickly, in case the threat of danger circled back to them. She'd not made much of a fuss at first, being busy as she was with the internal dealings of the castle and the aftermath of war. But she had noticed his withdrawal and it pained him to see the hurt in her eyes when he pulled away from her. 

Perhaps she would eventually tire of this difficult life with her boor of a husband and leave him for Dragonstone, to be with civilized people. Her family. Dragons that were alive and didn't breathe sheets of ice. That had been his underlying intention. She wasn't safe here. He could fail to keep her safe. He'd never be able to live with himself if he was unable to protect her or the baby. 

But last night, when she'd confronted him, he knew that he couldn't live with himself if she left, either. Simply put, he needed her. Last night had made it clear that he could not, would not, stay away from her. He had tried that before and they both nearly gone mad from the misery of it. 

He loved her, in every sense of the word. He could never go back to what he'd been. 

*******************************************

Sandor entered his rooms, fully intending on a quick bath and a hopefully a long stretch of sleep. He'd bathed himself quickly in the basin, promising himself he'd have a proper bath as soon as he awoke. Then he'd fallen into bed, wearing only a clean pair of breeches he'd managed to tug on quickly. 

He awoke to the feel of a hand stroking his back, soft hair tickling his arm. He felt groggy, as if he'd only slept for an hour at most.

"Sandor, I had a tray brought up to our room. Please, just eat something. Then you can go right back to sleep."

He turned his face to the source of the soft voice, managing to open one eye.

Sansa sat beside him, the firelight behind her illuminating her. She looked golden, her hair and skin gleaming. She smiled gently at him when he looked at her, and he felt a stirring in his belly that had nothing to do with hunger for food. 

He managed to turn and prop himself up so she could have the tray brought in. Once he'd eaten enough to appease her, he lay back against the pillows. She sat perched beside him on the bed. Wordlessly, he opened his arms and his heart leapt with happiness as she immediately came to him, snuggling against his chest. He held her and they lay in silence for a bit. 

"You must be tired" he finally spoke. "I got into bed so late, and you took the time to have food brought up. You didn't have to do that. I'm grateful, but I could have waited till morning."

She turned to peer up at him, a smile playing about her lips. 

"You did wait, when I came in last night and saw you sleeping so deeply. But you didn't stir for breakfast, or at midday. I was worried tonight,  so I insisted you eat. I'm sorry I had to wake you."

He looked out the window at the night sky, then back to her. "Last night?" He frowned, confused.

She smiled in earnest now. "My love, you've been asleep for almost an entire day."

He ran his hand through his hair in a quick, frustrated gesture. "Gods," he groaned. 

She sat up and leaned her head toward his. "Everything is fine, my love. Nothing happened while you slept. Our home is still standing, everyone is healthy enough. You earned a rest." 

He sighed, leaning his head back against a pillow.

Sansa sat up again. "I'm going to see how our daughter is settling in. I'll give you a few minutes to yourself. Your bath should be here soon."

He smiled at her smug expression. "You know me very well, my wife" he told her.

She kissed him quickly, then laughed as he pulled her against him again for a much longer kiss. Her laughter soon turned to soft moans as he deepened the kiss, his hands stroking her in places that soon made her fling her legs over him to straddle his lap and move against him. He drew her skirts up, his hand finding her and teasing her sensitive folds. Sansa gasped as his fingers brushed against a particularly sensitive area. He touched her there again and felt her grow hot and wet against him. 

"Gods" she moaned after a minute, rocking against his hand. "Sandor, I'm going to...please, I want you inside me...."

Sandor's other hand flew to his breeches, fumbling at the laces. He nearly had them undone when a knock sounded at the door. 

He growled in frustration. Sansa stilled, looking none too happy herself. Then she smoothed her expression. She climbed off him, straightening her skirts. Her eyes widened when she looked down at Sandor, his desire more than evident through his breeches. And speaking of his breeches...

"Oh, no" she mumbled, blushing. 

Sandor wanted to laugh but he didn't dare. A wet area soaked his breeches, right where she had been rubbing herself against him. He smiled at her and pulled the covers up over himself. 

Sansa hurried to open the door, and Sandor's bath was brought in. 

After the door closed again, Sandor climbed out of bed and shed his breeches finally. 

Sansa stared at him hungrily a moment then firmly closed her eyes. "I am going to check on Hope" she said determinedly. 

Sandor chuckled as she left and he sank into the bath. 

After Sandor had bathed and taken care of other necessities, he'd returned to the bed

Sansa came in moments later, smiling shyly at him. 

"Come here, little bird", Sandor stood to meet her. She hurried into his arms, seeming to be as eager as he was to finish what they'd started earlier.

Much later, after he'd given her such satisfaction that she didn't care that her hair was a tangled mess and the bedding was in disarray all around them, she told Sandor "Remember when I told you that we would talk later?" 

Sandor looked at her in the dim lighting and said nothing. 

"Well," she continued. "I don't care why you came back to me. I'm just glad you did. If you want to talk about it, I will be glad to listen. If you don't wish to speak of it, that is fine as well. I'll not mention it again unless you bring the matter up first."

Sandor felt a lump form in his throat. She knew, she must, why he had tried to stay away. He'd told her before, after that bleak time they'd spent apart, why he had kept his distance. He was relieved that he didn't have to offer an explanation of his behavior again. But he did owe her something, some word of assurance that he was not, nor had he ever been, displeased with his wife. Perplexed by, perhaps. Annoyed, frustrated, vexed, yes. But never displeased. Quite the opposite.

He paused, trying to find the right words. "Sansa-"

There was a knock at the door. 

Sansa sighed in frustration as she hurriedly threw on a dressing gown and wrapped it tightly around her. Sandor smiled at his little bird and her ruffled feathers. She tried to gather her hair, attempted to smooth it down, then gave up and opened the door. 

"Yes?" She asked frostily. 

"Beg pardon, my lady" said a maid's voice from outside the door. "But Miss Gilly asked that I come immediately. She says Lord Stark...that is, the young Lord Stark, he has awakened and she says it's important that you come as soon as possible."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	42. Chapter 42

-Sansa-

As she watched Sandor ride off, a procession of soldiers close behind, Sansa felt an icy pit settle in her stomach. This would truly be the last time he'd ride away from her, she told herself.

Sansa watched the riders until she could no longer see them. Then she went back inside to wait, cursing her feeling of helplessness. 

                           **********

When Bran had summoned Sansa in the late hours of the night, she was filled with dread. This promises nothing good, Sansa thought to herself as she hurried down to his chambers. However, perhaps some answers could finally be unearthed. Bran seemed to be growing weaker by the day.

As usual, the sweltering heat of the chamber greeted her before she'd even reached the door. And as usual, Bran lay motionless under several heavy furs, seemingly untouched by the roaring fire and layers of warmth. His skin remained cold as ever. 

Sansa crouched beside Bran, her eyes studying him, as if seeking any indication of what he might say. It had been so long since they had spoken.

"Bran," she whispered. 

Suddenly, Bran shot up into a rigid sitting position. His eyes flew open, revealing a milky-white, blind appearance. 

Sansa nearly flew backwards on her haste to draw back. Bran sat, chest heaving, breath gasping out in short pants.

Willing herself to have courage, Sansa slowly approached Bran again, slowly drawing her hand forward.

"Bran..." she said in a low tone, as she would to a tempermental horse, or to Hope in one of her restless, fussy moments. She touched his arm gently. 

With a strength and speed no one could have predicted, Bran latched his hand onto Sansa's arm, his fingers digging mercilessly into her flesh. He turned his unfocused gaze toward her. 

Sansa let out a yelp of surprise and pain. Sam rushed forward, but stopped when Bran began to speak. 

"He rides to Kings Landing...to destroy the last heir to the Iron Throne. I can hold him no longer....I grow weak. My strength is taken from me. Stop him. You must, for I can go no further."

With that, he relaxed his grip and fell back, eyes fluttering shut. 

Sam came forth, listening to Bran's chest.

"He is weak but his heart beats steadily, my lady." Sam said. "He requires much rest. Whatever he is seeking, or perhaps following, it draws power from him. This is most unusual. I must write down what he said immediately. The last heir to the Iron Throne...." Sam turned away and began to jot with a quill in a ledger full of notes. 

Sansa hastily wiped tears away that had fallen without her notice. She tucked the furs gently around Bran. Dazedly, she rose and left the chambers, returning to her room. 

Sandor was up, dressed, and pacing the room as she walked in and shut the door behind her. Seeing her face, he hurried over.

Sansa tried to contain herself and relayed events of the evening, repeating Bran's message twice at Sandor's request. She rubbed her arm in an absentminded way, shivering at the memory of Bran's steel, cold grip. 

Sandor took her arm carefully and examined the already bruised skin. He kissed her forehead and drew her close. They said nothing for a long while. 

After they'd undressed and gotten back into bed, Sansa lay awake, staring into the dimness of the night. 

Sandor rolled over to face her. He said nothing, but Sansa knew what was on his mind. 

"I know." She sighed, cupping his face. "I know, you must go and it's the only way. But you must come back to me. Do you understand me? I will not allow you to go unless you tell me you'll come home, safely."

Sandor said nothing. He pulled her close and stroked her back in a gentle, soothing pattern. Eventually a troubled sleep overcame them both. 

The next few days were a flurry of activity. Sansa kept her worried mind busy and had very little time to dwell upon her fears and uncertainties. And as occupied as she was during the daytime, her nights were spent feverishly pouring all the love she had into her husband. 

The night before his departure, Sandor fell back into bed as Sansa drooped beside him, flushed and catching her breath. They recovered slowly, sweat drying from their cooling bodies. Sandor finally moved to draw the covers up over them. 

"Little bird, you amaze me" he said quietly. His chest rose and fell, and she marveled as always at his powerful body. 

Sansa rose up again to look at him, her hand tracing lazy circles on his chest. She smiled. 

"The midwife tells me that since Hope is drawing near to her first name day, I will no longer need to nurse her. When that happens, I am even more likely to grow pregnant."

Sandor smiled slowly, his hand falling to her belly. He splayed his fingers out, as if remembering the feel of their child growing within her.  

"Even more likely? There is a chance now, you mean?" He looked at her in surprise.

Sansa smiled again. "A chance, yes. I will know for certain soon."

Several emotions seemed to play across his features. Joy seemed to win out. He returned her smile as the familiar heat that always made her pulse pound burned anew in his eyes.

"Let's not leave it _all_ up to chance," he  whispered against her mouth, reaching for her once more. 

                     *****************

The next morning, as he prepared to go, Sandor pulled her aside for one more private farewell. He had spent time with their daughter early in the morning, laughing delightedly at her antics and cradling her against his broad chest while he hummed her favorite songs to her. Sansa loved to watch them together.

Now Sandor kissed her long and tenderly, reminding her of the first kiss they'd shared, not too far from where they stood now. She sighed and leaned against him, drinking in his strong, reassuring presence. 

"I've left someone to watch over you," he told her. He stopped and frowned, as if knowing what he was about to tell her would not be something she wanted to hear. 

Sansa looked at him in puzzlement. "Brienne had returned? I thought she had agreed to go with you when you returned to that godsawful place, as she calls it. You've spoken to her?"

"Yes" Sandor said. "But that's not who is staying here. Daniel is staying of course, but he grows stronger every day. He will protect you. Ser Beric is here, as are several of his Brotherhood. Tormund will be here as well."

Sansa felt her confusion grow. "Then who...?"

"My lady." A quiet voice came from behind her. 

No, she thought, closing her eyes briefly. Then she turned. 

Jaime Lannister stood several feet behind her. His face was as arrogant as ever, but an uncertainty touched his features. He seemed...haunted. 

Sansa whirled back to face Sandor, her eyes wide. Then she pulled him further away until Jaime was just out of hearing distance. 

"Jaime Lannister?!" she hissed. "Have you completely lost your senses? He nearly killed my brother! And must I point out the obvious fact, that he is a Lannister? Cersei's beloved brother? Sandor...you cannot be serious."

"Tyrion is a Lannister." Sandor told her calmly. "He is an advisor to Queen Daenerys, a trusted advisor, as he has proven himself."

"Is that your only argument? That one Lannister has proven to be not so terrible, therefore we can trust them all? Sandor, please. This could be a terrible mistake."

Sandor looked at her seriously. "Sansa, I know this looks completely mad. But you must trust me. This will benefit you in more ways than I can say at the moment. He must stay here. And he will not harm you. I've taken measures to ensure that."

Sansa felt tears well up in her eyes, but she nodded at him. 

Sandor kissed her. "I love you. More than you'll ever know. Take care of our daughter." He splayed his hand discreetly upon her middle, smiling crookedly at her. "Take care of our family. 

Sansa nodded mutely, tears threatening to overflow at any moment. She kissed him fiercely in return. 

"Come home to me" she said simply. 

He kissed her deeply, making her cling to him. Then he turned and walked to his horse, mounting and tugging it to lead the waiting group that were to go with him. 

Brienne was among them. She gave Sansa a kind smile. Glancing over at Jaime, she gave him an unreadable look. Sansa looked over to see Jaime giving her a look that could only be described as frustration. 

After the group had ridden away, Sansa turned to face those left behind. Tormund glared at Jaime in disgust. Beric looked at her expectantly. Jaime looked slightly uncomfortable. 

Daniel had come out, supported by Greta. He drooped a bit, but did appear to be growing stronger as Sandor had suggested. He looked at Jaime. "Where is your man?" He asked. "Bronn. Where is he?"

Jaime gave him a scowl. "Not here" he replied shortly. 

Sansa sighed and turned to look back at the now empty horizon. She prayed to the old gods and the new that Sandor stayed safe, and that he hadn't just inadvertently delivered them both into a death trap. 

 

 

 

 

 


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I apologize for the long delay in updating. My life has been busy lately and I have missed this story! I have worked on it in any stolen moment I could find and am also working on the upcoming chapters. Thank you all for reading, the comments, kudos and bookmarks. I am so very grateful for all of you and this little community.

-Sandor-

 

He led the procession through the gates of Winterfell. 

Sandor refused to look back at Sansa. Were he to look at her, he would not see the proud set to her shoulders, the determined lift of her chin, as others would. There would be pain in her eyes, pain only he could see. Hurt and betrayal, thinking that he'd left her alone to fend for herself in yet another Lion's Den. 

He hadn't lied. He had taken measures to keep her safe. 

 _Just hold on, little bird,_  he thought. 

The plan was to travel with Wildlings, Vale Knights, and the small Northern army on Kingsroad. It was a hopelessly foolish plan, Sandor knew this, they might as well travel with banners and ceremony, exposed as they were. Unfortunately, there was no other way to arrive in Kings Landing before the Targaryen and her army. They could not afford any delays, because soon word would reach Cersei that they came. Once that happened, she would take action.

And Sandor did not want to know what sort of action her twisted, clever mind would decide upon.

He hoped she stayed distracted. Currently she was focused on the Targaryen girl, and now was the time to act from the North. 

Brienne flanked Sandor on the right, a fact that rankled him mightily. He refused to give in to his irritation. She was a powerful knight and they needed her, simple as that. 

The day was quiet, save the trotting of horses along the path. The wind blew cold and Sandor thought that the one and only good thing about being in Kings Landing would be that it wasn't freezing. He was immediately ashamed of that thought. Fuck the cold. He would gladly freeze his balls off each and every day to stay here with Sansa. 

A thundering sound of hoofbeats broke his train of thought. He turned to see Tormund riding hard to the front of the line. He might have imagined it, but he thought he heard Brienne make an annoyed sound. 

Tormund rode to his side and said "I...require a word with Lady Brienne."

Now Sandor was sure he heard her groan. He lifted his hand to stop the procession. 

Lady Brienne glowered at him, then turned to Tormund with a scowl. "What?"

"It occured to me, you're breaking your vow. You know, the one you swore to Lady Stark, in front of all your gods. You swore to protect her. Leaving her here with the brother of her greatest threat, well, that ain't exactly protecting her, is it? Seems you're failing to perform your duty." Tormund looked at Brienne with a scowl of his own. It was the first time Sandor hadn't seen him stare at her with that horrible lovesick expression he always seemed to have in Brienne's presence. 

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out for a moment. The expression of rage and confusion passing across her face was almost comical.

"What do you know of vows, Wildling? I am protecting my lady by riding to destroy her greatest threat, and your insistence that I would do otherwise is dangerous to your life!" Brienne hissed.

Tormund stared at her stubbornly. "Alone and vulnerable at the mercy of any threat is not protection. My apologies if you told yourself otherwise; however, I'm here to set you straight. So," he hastily added as her glare grew muderous, "I offer to ride in your stead and you may stay and protect Lady Stark. Your vow holds and Winterfell is protected by a brave and loyal knight."

Brienne regarded him with a slightly softer expression.

Finally she looked toward Sandor. 

He nodded his assent. 

Brienne turned back to Tormund. "Very well. I accept your offer...and I thank you."

Tormund looked triumphant. "And?" he prompted. 

"And?" Brienne asked impatiently.

"I seem to recall you insulting my people. We might be called Wildlings, but we free folk know how to uphold our word."

Brienne turned a mottled shade of red. She looked as if she would refuse. Finally, the highborn upbringing in her seemed to win out as she smoothed her expression and appeared to be gathering her composure.

 "Of course. I apologize to you and your people for any slight I might have made regarding your integrity." She answered in a stiff, clipped tone. 

Tormund grinned wickedly. "I accept your apology, my Lady Brienne. I have to say, though, I would have likely forgiven a woman such as you, even had you not apologized. As long as you don't go making a habit of insulting us free folk, that is."

Brienne gave him a scathing final look, then wordlessly turned and rode back for Winterfell. 

Tormund drew himself alongside Sandor and the procession began moving again. 

After several moments, Sandor murmured to Tormund, "Well done".

Tormund smirked. "Aye. I believe she is warming to me, Sandor. Did you notice that she didn't reach for her sword once as we spoke?"

Sandor shook his head, swallowing a smile. 

            *******************************

Two weeks on the road will try even the most patient of men. Saddle sore arses, the tedious stretch of road, barely enough to eat and for a great deal of the men, the lack of female company was making them all together unpleasant. 

Sandor had warned them to avoid drawing any attention as they attempted to detour through the woods when possible. People in passing villages would notice a large, mismatched procession of men and talk was bound to reach the ears of their enemies. However, after a week and a half, Sandor allowed small parties of men to discreetly visit brothels at their own risk. Before, he barely paid any mind to the thought of rutting between a woman's legs while traveling. Now that he'd had a taste of regular lovemaking, he understood how it could become a pressing desire.

No whore would ever hold the appeal that his wife had, though, and he would end up taking himself in hand in any rare, secluded moments. 

One night he walked out into the woods where they'd camped, on the pretense of taking a piss. He was not on guard duty that night, and he had awoken hard and aching. As soon as he found a decent cover of darkness, he unlaced his breeches and let his cock spring forward, painful and bulging.

He quickly began to stroke up and down his shaft. He pictured Sansa on her knees before him, her pretty mouth sucking, her dainty hands stroking him. He grit back a moan and pumped harder, imagining her astride him, as she rode him hard and fast, blue eyes and red hair wild. He would always feel a primal urge to howl, their bodies joined together as if made to fit to one another, her eyes full of love as she fixed her heated gaze upon him. She always stroked his face and whispered "I love you, Sandor," opening herself to his last thrust, taking him completely.

That was always the best part. Not the fucking, which was better than he could have ever imagined. The part where she said his name, told him she loved him, lying sated and smiling in his embrace, trusting him fully.

He came then, stifling his groans as his release spurted somewhere in the grass. He leaned his head against the arm he'd braced upon the tree, catching his breath. 

Gods, he missed her. 

He was doing up his laces when he heard a noise in the shadows ahead of him. He stilled, dropping the laces. 

Slow clapping resounded in the darkness. Sandor unsheathed his dagger in one quick motion, stepping forward. 

"I'm impressed. Seems us old men get an unfair reputation. We can still get it up and going, can't we, Clegane?"

A shadowy figure materialized from the direction of the voice. 

Sandor lowered his weapon and sighed. "Why in the seven hells are you out there skulking about and spying, you fucking snake?"

Bronn stepped forward, smiling lazily. "Let's just say.... that my interests lie where yours lie. Snake, you say? Interesting. But I'm here to help, Clegane. Obviously you need the help. And for fucks sake, fix your stays. You're losing your breeches. Allow me to stand guard while you fix that situation. Can't gut a man with your cock dangling and your breeches at your ankles. It's just not a heroic tale, that way."

Sandor grit his teeth and quickly tied his laces. 

"All right, then?" Bronn said congenially. "Let's have a chat back at your place, shall we?."

They headed back to camp, Sandor stomping, Bronn strolling behind him, as if it weren't the middle of the fucking night in the middle of the woods.

Sandor alerted the guards and woke Tormund.

"You couldn't wait and make your presence known in the bloody morning, could you?" Tormund grumbled, wiping sleep from his face. 

"That's one of the many things I envy about you Wildlings. You can sleep well anywhere, even on the ground" Bronn told him. "And no, I couldn't wait until morning. I just arrived to find Sandor taking an extraordinarily long piss and knew that if I camped nearby you lot might find me and would take me for a traitor or some shit. Then we'd end up killing each other. Better you see me now."

"Fair enough", Sandor replied. "Now what is it, exactly, that you're doing here?"

"Well, you see, I find myself at loose ends with making a living and all. I worked for the Lannister imp, now Jaime Lannister. But truthfully, gentlemen, I find myself utterly sick of all this shit over who sits upon an ugly fucking throne. I want what was promised to me over a year ago. Land, a title, and a lovely wife. That's it. I'll take it and be left the hell alone. Surely you can understand," he said, turning to Sandor. "You've gotten yourself quite a prize, with the Stark girl and the whole of Winterfell. After fighting your whole life, tell me that the idea of being left alone to run your own lands, fuck your own wife, and raise your children in peace doesn't sound like a piece of the heavens in this godsforsaken time."

Sandor could not disagree. 

"So," Bronn continued, "I am here to help".

Tormund frowned. "Help with what?"

"Obviously, we're going to rid Westeros of the current Queen, yeah?" Bronn swept his hand across the camp. He stood, stretching and dropping his pack on an empty expanse of ground. "Look, we can go over the details along the way. We should all get some sleep."

After Bronn was settled and the guards were switched over, Tormund followed Sandor to his bedroll. 

"I don't like this." Tormund muttered. "He seems like a slippery fuck."

"That's because he is a slippery fuck," Sandor told him. "One who we need to watch, closely. He is a skilled fighter and we can use that, if he is willing."

Tormund nodded and shuffled back to his makeshift bed. 

Sandor closed his eyes and thought of Hope and Sansa until he was calm enough to doze for a while.

To be left in peace, he thought, remembering Bronn's words just before drifting off.

                  ***********************

Soon enough, Kings Landing was imminent on the horizon. However, the stench was not familiar. It was cloying. 

"I can't see shit", one of the men complained. "It's foggy, thick as stew. Since when does Kings Landing get foggy?"

"That's not fog", Sandor replied, squinting. A familiar panic rose in his chest and he tried to temp it down. "That's smoke."

They rode closer to the gates.

No guards were anywhere to be found. There were no merchants or beggars in the streets. Sandor felt as if they were riding through an abandoned battlefield, surrounded by ghosts they could not see. 

Suddenly loud screech filled the air.

Sandor and the men whirled around to look at the sky. Nothing was flying toward them, only the residual clouds of smoke that billowed up through the air  

Another loud screech sounded. 

"It's coming from the ground," Tormund whispered. 

Sandor rode toward the back sentry. "Stay at the gates. Do not let anyone pass or enter." 

The men nodded and rode for the gates. 

"Vale to the East" Sandor growled. The Vale Knights rode quickly away. 

"The North, you have the West," Sandor told the remaining men, some of them barely past their sixteenth name day. "I will come for you first. Be ready."

Wide eyed, they nodded and rode away, leaving Tormund and Bronn with Sandor. 

Sandor looked at the smoldering Red Keep. He took a quick breath. Looking at the men who remained by his side, he told them "It's time."

Leaving the cobblestones, they veered into an alley and toward the Gardens of the Castle. 

 

 

  


	44. Chapter 44

-Sansa-

 

Sansa woke to the sound of Hope screeching from her room. Instinctively she threw the covers from herself and hurried through the adjacent door into the baby's room. 

Adjusting her eyes in the early morning light, she saw Hope standing in crib, supported by chubby legs. Her red, tear streaked face screwed up as she threw her head back to let out another howl. 

"Shhhh, love. I'm here." Sansa scooped the child up and jostled her gently, patting as Hope's rigid body began to loosen a bit. She began flailing and her crying turned to shrieks of indignation. Sighing, Sansa pat the baby, still moving and swaying. However, Hope continued to wail.

Sansa carried her baby to her bed, laying Hope down and examining her. After a feeding, a changing, and checking for teething pain, Sansa rocked her anxiously in the rising sunlight. She had not heard Hope cry like this since she had been a newborn. It brought back memories of exhaustion and uncertainty. She had thought herself a terrible mother, unable to soothe her baby most nights as Hope would finally drop into an anxious rest after exhausting herself. 

Sansa wished for the thousandth time that her mother was here. She never voiced it aloud, but she missed her even more since she had become a mother herself. She longed for her wisdom and guidance, even if she was a bit stern at times. Sansa knew now that she had only done what she thought best for her family. 

Hope had gone from shrill cries to whining. She wrestled herself from Sansa's lap and into the floor. She crawled to the rug, and grabbed an old pair of boots Sandor had left behind. He trained in them from time to time, polishing them after each wear. Sansa would watch him from bed, admiring the care he took of even an old pair of boots. 

She mentioned it to him and he'd given her a sidelong glance. "I take care of what's mine," he had quietly replied.  

She had known he'd meant more than just the boots. She smiled and waited for him to finish his task. Then she sauntered toward him, naked, where he stood at the basin. She'd wrapped her arms around him and felt him relax into her naked form. He slowly turned, gripping her bare bottom possessively, and she shivered as cold droplets from his hands fell onto her skin.  He'd noticed. Smirking, he dipped his hand in the bowl and let his fingers slowly graze down her chest, eyes growing smoky as the drops trailed down her body. He focused on her nipples, tightening from cold and arousal. Soon he had them in his mouth. The sensation of cold to hot left Sansa panting with desire. She felt her head fall back as a breathless moan escaped her. Sandor picked her up and she wrapped her legs around him, crying out in delight as he entered her. Somehow they tumbled into the bed, the boots long forgotten on the floor....

Sansa shook her head, trying to clear the  memory.

She missed Sandor. Desperately. She missed the way his presence both calmed and strengthened her. She missed the times he'd listen to her, not pretending to engage her in a conversation and pat her on the head and dismiss her as a silly woman. He'd actually take into account the things she'd say and credited her as a true equal in almost everything. She missed taking care of him, the way his eyes would soften when she did all the little, wifely things she had been brought up to do, finding that for the most part she enjoyed it because she loved a good man who took such good care of her.

She especially missed lovemaking. Some nights they made slow, gentle love. Other nights they made mad, passionate love with a primal intensity that nearly frightened her. Occasionally they'd both fall into bed, exhausted, waking up curled into one another. Sandor brought her warmth, and she brought him comfort. 

Hope looked at the boot she played with and held it up to her mother. "Da?" She questioned, in her sweet language. Sansa smiled at her daughter, a bittersweet tug pulling at her heart. "Yes, Da," she said, using Hope's name for Sandor, as she lowered herself to the ground beside Hope, smiling gently. "I miss Da too" she told the child, tickling under her chin, making Hope let out a quick giggle as she took up both boots and made them thump against floor. 

A while later, Hope's nurse came and took Hope for the morning. Sansa bathed and dressed, nibbling some bread with honey from a tray that had been sent up. She cleaned her teeth and combed her hair, smoothing it thoughtfully. She wished she could send a raven to Sandor. She knew he must have reached Kings Landing by now. But there was no way to tell where he was or what he was doing. She hated not knowing, the waiting and wondering. She found herself praying repeatedly throughout every day for the safe return of her husband and his men. She was tired of being afraid, of separation, of violence and madness. She wanted peace and her husband home with her. 

Downstairs in the great room, Brienne awaited her with a brief detailing of Winterfell's activity. 

There were the usual petty disagreements that were being brought to her attention.  The most pressing, a daughter who did not wish to marry her betrothed ("She shall not marry a man she does not wish to be wed to," Sansa said firmly). However, the girl's family had already collected a sizeable amount of coin and several livestock in exchange for their daughter's hand, and they refused to part with their "gifts".

Sansa sighed. "Send them to me" she said. She knew that with marriageable prospects being what they currently were in the North, she would have to oversee this feud delicately. 

In the end, the daughter and her family left with half the coin, which Sansa hoped they had not already spent, and none of the livestock. She sent four guards to oversee the exchange, and upon glancing at the girl's parents, who smiled conspiratorially at one another, she added "Please, try not to make a habit of promising your daughter's hand in exchange for goods. I would hate to hear that you were given to a reputation of being known swindlers." She smiled kindly at them. 

Her voice carried through the open door into the hall, where Magda, a known busybody and gossip awaited for an audience with Sansa. The parents of the boy looked at one another with some satisfaction. The girl's parents cringed as they were led into the hall. The doors shut, and Brienne snickered from where she stood beside Sansa, which she quickly covered with a cough. "Well done, my lady," Brienne said, recovering. 

Sansa gave a small smile. "I do hope I was fair," she said mildly. "One can never be too careful when it comes to feuding families". 

"Indeed" Brienne agreed shortly. Sansa wondered if she was also thinking about disagreements between Houses and their effect on entire kingdoms. 

Sansa sighed and straightened her posture. Brienne called for the next audience. 

The doors opened and instead of Magda, Jaime Lannister strode through them.

Sansa watched as he paused before them and bowed quickly. 

"Ser Jaime," Sansa said, trying to keep puzzlement from her tone. 

Jaime swallowed, looking at Brienne, who seemed to nod encouragingly at him.

"Lady Stark," Jaime replied. "I am here to make a request."

Sansa looked at him a moment, then nodded, encouraging him to continue.

"My request is to be the one who kills Cersei".

Sansa felt completely lost at sea. Jaime Lannister wishes to kill his own beloved sister? What sort of game was he playing at? She gathered her wits and replied, "Ser Jaime, you are here at Winterfell. Cersei is likely tucked safely away in the Red Keep. I fear that you've missed the traveling party to Kings Landing. You're free to go any time, of course, but do you not think it dangerous to travel alone? We can hardly spare a man to accompany you."

Jaime looked at his boots then back at her. He took a breath and said, "My lady, I realize that there are some wrongs I cannot right, not....ever. Not completely." His gaze drifted toward the tower and Sansa felt slightly sickened as she recalled Bran's fall.

Fall? Sansa asked herself. It was attempted murder. Anger surged over Sansa. She forced herself to nod at Jaime to continue.

"However, there are ways I can stop some of the madness that will surely grieve us if someone doesn't take control of House Lannister. Someone who isn't....well, mad. I request that you allow me to be the one who ends it."

Mystified, Sansa looked down at the table in front of her, drumming her fingers on it once. Looking back at Jaime, she asked "Ser Jaime, while your request to save us all from your sister is noble, I'm afraid I don't understand why you come forth to request such a thing from me. Why would I be the one to grant permission?"

Jaime shifted uncomfortably and looked at Brienne once more. She nodded her head, her eyes encouraging and sympathetic. Sansa was growing annoyed. She waited impatiently for Jaime to answer, careful to keep the mask of cold composure upon her face. 

"I went to visit your brother. I tried to make a humble, fool's apology. Though he had every right to spit in my face and tell me to fuck off, instead he did something I could never deserve. He forgave me for something unforgivable. I don't deserve that. I've done terrible things in my lifetime and I will answer for them all one day. I want the Lannister blood spilled to be by my hand. I want to help stop the madness in the world, instead of adding to its destruction." 

Sansa said nothing. She could not. 

"Your brother told me that he saw Sandor bringing Cersei to Winterfell. He said he saw he captured and brought here for judgment. By the order of Danerys Targaryen and Jon Snow."

"I see." Sansa replied. She sat quietly for a brief moment, trying to gather her thoughts. "When Sandor returns, if he returns with Cersei, he and I will discuss this request you make. I will have the answer for you after that."

Jaime looked at her skeptically. "Are you not the Lady of Winterfell?" 

Sansa glared at him. "Yes, Ser Jaime, I am. However, my husband and I make decisions together, as we both play an equal role in the running of Winterfell. For my part, I care not who kills Cersei, so long as her evil is removed from the lands. However, other factors may come into consideration once Sandor arrives. I will speak to him upon his arrival. Also, despite anything that transpired between you and Bran, I'm afraid I must ask you to refrain from visiting him again. He is often not well enough for visitors."

Sansa held onto her control by a thread. If Jaime went near Bran again, she would be sorely tempted to lose any good will she might have left for the man. 

 Jaime watched her a moment then bowed. "Very well. Thank you for your time and attention to my request, Lady Stark. I will await your final decision."

Sansa dismissed him with a curt nod. 

As soon as he was gone, Brienne did not call forth the next audience. She stood silently, looking at Sansa apprehensively from the corner of her eye. 

The slience stretched on. Finally Brienne spoke. 

"My lady, please allow me to explain. Ser Jaime came to me after he'd spoken to Bran. I insisted he tell you at once. He informed me that he intended to request an audience with you. I was not aware of his intention to kill Cersei, nor was I aware of the full extent of his conversation with your brother. Had I known, I would have spoken to you of the matter at once."

Sansa turned to look at Brienne. She wore a fierce expression, though her internal conflict was apparent in her eyes. Torn between love and loyalty to her vow.

And Sansa knew, however much it pained her, Brienne would choose loyalty. 

Sansa sighed. "Thank you for your honesty, Brienne. Please do not keep things from me in the future."

Brienne nodded, and stood stoically back in her place. 

"I will speak to Sandor about Ser Jaime and his request. I meant that. Is there is a decent man in Ser Jaime, somewhere? Perhaps ridding the world of Cersei will help him as much as anyone." Sansa said thoughtfully. 

Brienne looked at Sansa once more, her expression hopeful.

To think that someone as decent as Brienne could be taken with a man like Jaime Lannister, Sansa thought sadly. She knew that love could most certainly be blind and foolish. 

Tamping down her emotions, Sansa played her part and got through the day.

After the evening meal and getting Hope bathed and to bed, Sansa impulsively went to speak with Bran. 

To her great displeasure, Bran was not alone. He sat up in the bed, weakly, as Jaime Lannister spooned him broth from a bowl. 

Sansa strode in, leashing her anger tightly. 

"Good evening, Lady Stark" Jaime said neutrally as he stood and bowed. He sat back down on the stool and resumed his task. 

"What are you doing, Ser Jaime?" Sansa asked wearily. "I trust you've not forgotten out conversation from earlier."

"I have not," Jaime replied. 

"I sent for him," Bran told Sansa. "I needed him to deliver a message. He was kind enough to help me with dinner."

Sansa gave them both a brittle smile.

"That was very kind of him Bran. Perhaps I shall assign you some sort of permanent assistance. Someone with a strong constitution and a natural instinct for caretaking. Ser Jaime?"

He looked at her, slightly confused. 

"Beginning now, until the return of our soldiers, you will be tasked with the daily care of Bran. I will station guards nearby for the safety of everyone in this room. I bid you good evening, gentlemen." Sansa nodded at them and left the room. After making arrangements with the guards, Sansa finally went to her chambers. She sank into the bath she had ordered gratefully, staring at the steam curling lazily above her. 

Sansa hoped this plan of hers did not backfire. However, she was tired of her orders being so easily dismissed. Perhaps it was time to remind some of her guests that she was Lady Stark, not just silly little Sansa any longer. 

  


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My job has been madness lately. I apologize, once again, for the delays. As always, my deepest gratitude for your patience and support.

-Sandor-

Sandor wasn't sure who was making more noise at the moment; Cersei, cursing and snarling like a half mad beggar, or Bronn and his Sand Snake who had taken themselves off into the trees as soon as they stopped for the night. 

Sandor sighed as he stoked the fire, glancing over at Cersei. She was bound by her hands and ankles with silk curtains from her chambers, covered in soot and ash. She had snarled at Sandor when he had tried to take a damp cloth to her face, and after dodging a bite from her for the third time, he'd given up.

Old habits die hard, and his Kingsguard duties had served him well as he stormed the Red Keep, where he'd found Cersei alone in what was left of her room, cowered under a table, a glass of wine in her trembling hand. She'd babbled something about the dungeons, and after their search, a Dornish girl, weakened by her captivity, was located. A quick glance into the other cells showed that other captives had not fared quite so well. Mostly women, Sandor had reckoned, forgotten and abandoned to decay underground. 

Bronn had immediately taken the Dornish girl to his side and she had remained there since they'd ridden away from Kings Landing, gathering their remaining soldiers, and didn't look back. Sandor wondered briefly about Daenerys and her motives for burning the city to the ground, then decided that it didn't matter why she'd done it. The place needed to burn away, all the evil and filth should swallowed by the flames. 

 

Tormund had found the entire act of dragging Cersei along with them back to Winterfell entirely disasteful, but he grimly held her as they rode, not complaining, just wearing a look of wary disgust. They'd stopped at the first clear stream they'd come upon, heading up to drink the cold, clear water, then back down to scrub the film of smoke and crumbling empire off of them.

They fed the Dornish girl all the bread they had left, as well as dried meat and figs. After a while, she began to gain some color in her cheeks, her golden skin not looking so sallow.

After a few hours on the road, she introduced herself as Tyene Sand. 

"Cersei thought she killed me." Tyene glared to the mess of a queen huddled in front of Tormund. "She didn't realise we know poisons. The nature of them. We've studied them, we've built up a tolerance to most. When we didn't die after a few days, she had the Mountain kill Ellaria. Then I got sick and she left me to die. I stayed chained in there with Ellaria's body for days."

Tyene stopped, her lip quivering almost imperceptibly. After she gathered herself, she drew in a breath and looked fiercely at Sandor. 

"You are the Mountain's brother? The Hound?" She asked.

"I am Sandor Clegane Stark. I was the Mountain's brother. He is dead now." Sandor answered her. 

"Sandor killed the Mountain," Tormund said cheerfully, likely for Cersei's benefit. 

Tyene said nothing. She looked down wearily and closed her eyes. 

Once they stopped for the evening, the men were cheered somewhat. They'd caught fresh game on the road and Bronn had taken a bit of wine from The Red Keep. 

After eating, Bronn and Tyene wandered away, soon making no mystery of what they were doing by their cries and grunts.

Tormund rolled his eyes. 

"I'm seeing to the horses for the night. I'll take first watch." The Wildling stood and strode off without so much as a backward glance. 

Sandor began to prepare himself for the evening, sword at his side, dagger in his boot, dirk in his sleeve. Cersei watched silently. 

"You killed your brother?" She asked after a while. 

Sandor looked over at her. "Aye," he replied shortly. "After you'd sent him to kill me."

"I didn't send him to kill you," she replied in her familiar haughty manner. "I sent him to kill Jaime. I simply told him to do what he must in order to ensure his task was fulfilled."

"You sent him to kill Jaime," Sandor repeated, doubtfully. "Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but he failed, my lady."

Cersei glared at him. "Incompetent. Do the gods laugh at me? Do they mock me at every turn? They punish me for being wicked, no doubt. But know this, Sandor Clegane Stark. I have done everything I did out of love. And I would do it again, a thousand times over."

"Love," Sandor snorted. "Love of yourself. Love is something you hold no concept of, Cersei. You love your brother, loved your children, because they were the purest form of your own flesh. Your puppets on your strings, that you couldn't control after all. Don't speak to me about love."

"Perhaps the Hound is a poet now that he has found love with a broken little dove?" She mocked. "Tell me, does she cringe away from you in bed? Does she weep afterwards? Do you mistake fear for love, Hound?"

Sandor looked at her levelly. "Not anymore."

Cersei laughed, a harsh broken sound. "Fear is the purest form of love there is."

Sandor decided to ignore her and leaned against the tree. 

"My own brother, setting the world on fire," Cersei whispered to herself.

Sandor didn't know if she meant Tyrion or Jaime. He looked out into the night, trying to ignore the sounds of Cersei chuckling madly and the rutting nearby in the woods. 

Bronn and Tyene came back nearly an hour later, looking smug and satisfied. 

Sandor looked over at Bronn, eyebrow raised. 

"Oh, I can't have a reunion with a long lost friend?" Bronn asked in mock indignation. "Honestly, Clegane, you're a bore."

Sandor bit back a laugh. 

Soon Tyene and Bronn were fast asleep. Sandor didn't know if Cersei slept or not, but he wasn't about to close his eyes with her and a Sand Snake nearby. 

Sandor took his watch, and sat until pale morning light began to chase the night away. 

They rode for days, the air growing colder as they traveled further North.

Tyene was quiet for the most part, only conversing with Bronn, and ocassionally Tormund, who seemed to amuse her. She barely spoke to Sandor, which suited him fine. He was already uneasy about bringing her back to Winterfell. 

Cersei grew weak, refusing meals. The men forced water, and broth when they had it, into her, simply trying to keep her alive until they reached Winterfell. 

Just as the cold and exhaustion grew overwhelming, the familiar sight of the gates greeted them. 

Thank the seven, Sandor thought, as the gate was opened. 

Once inside, Sandor ordered several maids to be flanked by guards. Cersei was to be bathed, dressed and fed. He had her hauled to the dungeon, relieved of his burden for now. 

Sansa came outside, holding Hope. Her eyes were full of questions as she saw Tyene and the remaining soldiers, but she held him tightly nonetheless, causing Hope to squawk in protest. Sandor and Sansa both laughed, and as she pulled away, his eyes caught the slight swell of her slender middle. 

"Sansa," he said, brushing his hand across the bump briefly. 

She smiled brilliantly at him. "The midwife thinks I'm nearly two months now." She confided.

That meant one of the nights before he left had planted the seed in her. His heart filled with joy. 

He kissed her, and Hope. "I've some things to attend to," he told her gently. "Then I will see you in our rooms, my wife."

She smiled at him, a bit sadly. "Yes, husband" she said in a docile tone. 

He smirked at her show of wifely obedience. 

After a quick wash and change, Sandor set off to find Jaime Lannister. 

"He'd be in Bran's rooms, my lord," a maid informed him. 

Sandor nodded and hurried to it. Why the hell was Jaime in Bran's room? Sansa must know, because she hadn't ripped Jaime's throat out yet.

Sandor stopped at the door, knocking perfunctorily. 

"Come in, Sandor," Bran's voice called. 

Sandor opened the door, staring at the sight of Ser Jaime sitting by Bran's bedside. 

"Clegane," Jaime said nodding. 

"Jaime," Sandor returned. "What are you doing here?"

"Sansa decided I needed a nursemaid. She assigned the task to Ser Jaime." Bran told him matter of factly. 

Mystified, Sandor turned to Jaime and said, "Interesting. Well, Bran, if you could spare Ser Jaime for just a bit, I believe a visitor is here for him."

Jaime looked at Bran, who nodded. 

"Follow me," Sandor said.

 

 

 


	46. Chapter 46

-Sansa- 

She thought Sandor would speak to her privately when he arrived home, but he didn't. 

She thought maybe he would come to her straight away, spending time with her and Hope, then she and Sandor might hide away in their room for the rest of the evening, but that was not what happened. 

Sansa understood that Sandor had Cersei locked away, and he would be in fine form once he knew the details of the male Lion's plan, but she'd not had a moment to tell him. Such is the life of a ruler, she thought mockingly. 

Cersei had been secured in the dungeons, with a small army of maids and guards to ensure that she was bathed, fed, and dressed. This did not bode well for Cersei.

Jaime was not in Bran's rooms, nor in any place Sansa had checked. This worried her until she found out that Sandor had taken Jaime with him down to the dungeon. 

As for now, Bronn and his Dornish girl awaited her. She was supposed to greet them, assign them a room and make them comfortable. It was only right, considering the pieces of information she'd heard about the girl's ordeal, and also considering what Bronn had done for the North. She couldn't help the prickle of uneasiness that kept her from being too hospitable. A Sand Snake with knowledge of poisons, her family killed off by her enemies, not to mention Oberyn, her father, was murdered by Sandor's brother. This girl, Tyene, was likely half mad with grief and rage. Sansa understood that feeling well. However, Sansa was not thrilled to allow this girl free reign in her home. She could only hope Bronn wasn't totally blinded by love, or lust, or whatever a man like Bronn felt. She hoped his good sense would overrule his baser desires, if need be. 

Sansa pulled her face into a carefully composed smile as she gracefully entered the great room. Bronn stood at attention, while Tyene stood sullenly, with less haste. The girl was lovely, her once closely cropped hair now hanging in loose black waves around her face, her skin golden and smooth, her dark eyes catlike, missing nothing, taking Sansa in all at once.  

Sansa nodded at them. "Bronn. I thank you for your part in the siege of Kings Landing. Though I've heard that someone got there first to set the flames, you and the others took the source of the madness from her chambers."

"Thank you?" Tyene queried in a purr, glancing at Bronn in amusement, then back at Sansa. Is that all he recieves my lady, is your thanks?"

Sansa felt her eyebrows raise in the girl's open rudeness. "If I may finish," she said smoothly, "I've prepared a room for you and your guest. I've taken the liberty of sending a bath up as well."

"Maybe I don't want to share a room with him," Tyene said, a twist to her mouth. "Perhaps a lady should have her own room."

"Perhaps she should," Sansa returned. "However, rooms are a bit scarce at the moment, with all the guests here. I do hope you'll be comfortable with the current arrangement. I've slept in the woods myself. They _are_  an uncomfortable place to sleep, in my opinion. One can only go up in their standards from there, wouldn't you agree?"

Tyene gave a defiant glare at Sansa, but said nothing. 

"It will be more than sufficient, my lady," Bronn finally spoke, pulling Tyene gently to his side. "And I think a bath sounds...heavenly." After giving Tyene a smoldering look, which she did not return, he gave Sansa a smile. 

Sansa wasted no time in calling for someone to show Tyene and Bronn to their rooms. 

"We'll see you at dinner, my lady," Bronn said, sauntering away, Tyene casting an unreadable look behind her and following him. 

Sansa sighed and left shortly after, bumping into Greta in the hallway. 

"Why is Tyene Sand here?" Greta asked, eyebrows raised.

"She was freed from captivity in Kings Landing," Sansa replied as they walked down the hallway together. 

"Hmmm," Greta said, looking troubled. "Well, I've been sent to fetch you out into the yard. It seems we're having a bit of trouble out there. In fact, Brienne asked for you. She isn't able to make them see sense or reason."

"Who?," Sansa asked, as they passed through the side doorway and into the yard. 

Greta indicated before her with a hand. "Men," she responded with a sigh. 

Sansa looked further into the yard and was met by the sight of Sandor and Jaime in a heated argument.Tormund looked delighted by the scene before him, chuckling and elbowing Daniel, who wore his usual mask of indifference, marred only by his wrinkled brow. Beric looked like a father weary of fighting children, calmly interjecting when it looked as if blows would come. Brienne stood beside Jaime, apparently trying to reason with him, though he shrugged her away. 

Sansa strode right into the scene before her, beside Sandor who barely glanced her way. 

"My lady, thank the gods." Brienne said, only for Sansa's benefit it seemed. The others were engrossed in the argument Sandor was spitting toward Jaime.

"So, I simply allow Ser Jaime Lannister to decide the fate of someone he's spent his entire life protecting, do I? Fuck you. It is not your privilege, nor your right, to determine what happens to my captive, a captive who sent you and an entire fucking army to kill me. What sort of damned fool do you take me for? After all we've all been through, I will not to give you the opportunity to fuck this up."

Sandor was a terrifying sight when he was angry. But Jaime didn't even flinch. 

"This is something that I must do, Clegane," Jaime used a calm and reasonable tone. "I can't leave from Winterfell, alive, after one of the Northerners has taken Cersei's life but spared mine. I would be laughed out of every town I went to, people would look at me as a coward, a back biting, weak fool. Does it truly matter so much who does the deed, so long as it's done?"

"Yes, it bloody well does, and you know it!" Sandor shouted, his face directly in front of Jaime's. "Spare me your sob stories. I will not delegate such a task to any Lannister. Understand me, Ser Jaime, your influence and pretty words will not sway this decision to your favor."

"If I may-" Jaime began.

"The answer is no!" Sandor shouted. "The answer," he repeated in a soft, deadly tone, looking Jaime directly in the eye, "Is no. Nothing more will be spoken of this." He strode away, leaving everyone in the yard to watch him go. 

Sansa and the others stood in an awkward silence. Finally she nodded at the small group. "Excuse me," she said politely, walking calmly toward the direction Sandor had gone.

Once she was inside and away from watchful eyes, Sansa hurried down the halls.

Finding Sandor in their rooms, she shut the door behind her, watching as he lowered himself wearily into what she hoped was a still warm bath. 

"What is it, Sansa?" He asked in an impatient voice. 

Sansa hastily answered, "Nothing, Sandor, I just came to see," she paused at Sandor's rigid back..."if you needed anything." She finished lamely. 

"I don't," he answered. "I believe I am capable of washing and dressing myself. I've done so for a number of years. In fact, I am feeling every single one of those years at the moment, so what I do need is for you to give me some privacy, if you don't mind."

Sansa didn't respond. Quietly she left and closed the door carefully behind her. 

 

Dinner was thick with unspoken emotions. Somehow they got through it, without any angry remarks, no heated discussions. Tyene stared daggers at Sansa and Sandor until Greta gave her a look that Tyene seemed to understand. She immediately turned her attention elsewhere. 

Brienne probably wished Greta had a look for Tormund as well. He gave her his undivided attention, only stopping to shovel in the occasional bite of food. Brienne looked hard pressed, between fending off Tormund and casting worried glances at Jaime, who barely spoke two words to her. 

Samwell and Gilly, bless them, broke up some of the tension with their pleasant chatter. They reported on some of their studies and Samwell entertained them with clever antecdotes he'd picked up here and there from a lifetime of reading and studying. 

Sansa felt a wave of protection toward the gentle, clever man. She imagined that was why Jon had taken Sam under his wing. Sam was naturally a kindly and pleasant person, who helped others without expecting anything much in return. She almost envied Sam and Gilly their seemingly uncomplicated life together, though she knew their lives too had been fraught with heartache and danger. 

After dinner, Sansa waited discreetly, slowly sipping her wine. She was wondering if a decision regarding the life of Cersei was to be determined that evening. She didn't expect it to be, however. Sandor had read her accounts of all that had transpired in his abscence taken down in Samwell's neat writing. Nothing else was discussed. The wine was consumed, people spoke very little, and couple by couple, or one by one, all made their way to their rooms for the evening. 

Sansa, not wanting to linger, excused herself after Tormund did, leaving Sandor and Ser Beric alone in the dining hall. 

As usual, Sansa checked on Bran, who steadfastly refused to dine with the others still, and then Hope, who was fast asleep. After a quick wash, she put on her most comfortable nightgown and climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. 

She lay awake for what seemed like an hour, unable to still her mind. Finally, she must have dozed, because she came to with a startled jerk as the bed dipped below her. 

"It's all right, little bird," she heard Sandor's low voice murmur. "It's me." He said nothing else, and soon she heard his deep, even breathing, indicating he was asleep. 

She tried to relax. Closing her eyes determinedly, she attempted to doze again. Several minutes went by as she lay awake, unable to rest. Finally she sat up, reaching for her furs. 

"Where are you going?" Sandor's voice sounded as if he'd drifted off to sleep but was awake in an instant. He was a soldier through and through. 

"I can't sleep," Sansa murmured. "I'm going to check on Bran. I might stay there for a while. Rest, Sandor."

"Sansa," he started.

She waited in the dimness, the gentle crackling of the fire the only sound in the room. 

"Good night." He said finally, sounding as if he meant something else entirely. 

"Good night," she responded, wrapping her furs tightly around her, leaving their room. 

I am not going to lay there and fret over Sandor and his moods, she thought huffily as she made her way to Bran's room, the guards tactfully avoiding her eyes. If he did not miss me, that's fine, she told herself. I've plenty besides him to occupy my time. 

Rounding a corner, she slid through an empty dark area, a sense of warning in the back of her mind. 

A pair of hands deftly reached out for her, one holding her securely to their person, one clamped tightly around her mouth. 

"Don't scream," an accented voice hissed in her ear. "I'll remove my hand if you promise not to scream. Nod if you agree."

Sansa nodded her head warily. The hand lifted away slowly. 

"I'm sorry," Tyene said, not sounding sorry at all. "But I needed to speak with you."

"What would you have done had I not been out of my rooms?" Sansa demanded in a whisper. "Stolen me from my bed?"

"I did consider that," Tyene said replied. "However, that wasn't necessary, as you can see. You made it quite easy, Lady Stark. A woman can never be too careful, you must know this. Being out alone after dark is just asking for danger."

Sansa sighed. "What do you want, Tyene?" she asked wearily. 

Tyene smiled at her suddenly. "Where were you going?"

"To see my brother," Sansa said, baffled by the sudden change in tactic. 

"Excellent. I'll go with you." Tyene took Sansa's arm in hers and led her down the hall. 

Sansa did not argue, simply followed along.

Bran was sleeping, his face looking as pale and still as a statue. Tyene gazed at him for a while as Sansa tidied up the already tidy room, checking his water basin and wardrobe. She had to begrudgingly admit that Jaime was doing a decent job caring for Bran. 

Sansa sat in one of the chairs across from Bran's bedside. After a quick glance at her, Tyene joined her. 

"How long has he been unwell?" Tyene asked, a look of genuine concern in her eyes. 

"I don't know that he is...unwell." Sansa responded quietly, thinking. "He is just...different. He was pushed from the tower. He was always climbing, always going as high as he could. Then he was unable to climb any longer. I left for Kings Landing, then there was war and so much happened. We were separated for a long time before we were all reunited here at Winterfell. Bran and Rickon were forced to flee. They were still so young. They had a simple minded man, a good man, named Hodor and a Wildling girl who looked after them for a time. Rickon was so sweet, so brave but never a fighter. Bran has changed a great deal, between his fall and whatever it was he endured while they were in hiding. It was...difficult. Theon Greyjoy grew up with my brothers, but he started a whole chain of disaster, though he paid a high price for it. The...monster I was married to, before Sandor, he killed Rickon. He didn't have to, he did it just because he could, people were nothing to him. It was all a just sick game, he didn't care about the lives of others. When I first met him, he seemed charming, courteous. But he was...not even human. You can't ever know some people. Not truly, not when you know what people are capable of."

"Betrayal," Tyene said looking at Sansa. 

Sansa was shaken from her musings. "I'm sorry?" 

"Betrayal," Tyene repeated. "The problem is, we are so often not harmed by enemies, but by betrayal from family, or friends. By those we trust."

"Yes," Sansa said softly. "I suppose you're right."

"I was born a bastard," Tyene said without bitterness or shame. "My mother taught us well, raised us to be strong, to never apologize for who we are. Yet, she grew mad in grief, with her need for vengence. Would she still be alive, would all my sisters still be alive, had she chosen a different path? I don't know. I don't know why I lived, when they all died. I don't know why the poison didn't kill me, as much as Cersei used. I don't know why the Mountain took my mother away and killed her, as he did my father. I have many questions, but no answers".

 "You didn't actually see your mother die?" Sansa asked. 

"I didn't see it. I didn't want to. I didn't need to! You know as well as I do, Gregor Clegane murders anything he touches."

"He tried to kill Sandor when they were children. He held his face into the fire, burning him for playing with one of his toys." Sansa told her. 

"Did Sandor truly kill Gregor? Is he truly dead?" Tyene asked her. 

"Yes," Sansa answered softly. "He did. Here at Winterfell, not even half a year past."

"Then he and I have something in common," Tyene replied, turning to look back at Bran. "I helped kill my brother as well."

Sansa knew this, but hearing it said aloud was unsettling. She gazed at Bran who slept on, unmoving still. 

"I didn't see my mother killed. I heard. I heard..." Tyene swallowed hard. "I heard her screams. Then the silence, it was so sudden, so...final."

"I'm sorry," Sansa said in a heartfelt tone. She knew it was a terrible thing, losing one's mother. 

Tyene glanced at her briefly in acknowledgment then looked away. 

"What were you doing out of bed tonight?" Sansa asked suddenly. 

"I had to get you out of your room," Tyene responded. "I could have done what I needed to in your room, but you made it almost too easy when you left. I should thank you."

"Why?" Sansa asked, startled.

Silently, Tyene held up her hand. Her palm was slick with something clear and shiny. 

Sansa felt a moment of pure panic as comprehension dawned on her. She touched her lips, remembering Tyene holding her mouth. There was a tingling, then a slow creeping numbness beginning in her face. 

Tyene watched her closely. "Listen to me. Let yourself slide out of the chair, now. You'll hurt yourself with a fall if you don't."

"You...you poisoned me." Sansa stammered in a slur. She did slide off the chair, terrified as the ability to move quickly failed her. She was unable to speak or move as she found herself prone and vulnerable on the floor.

"You won't die, Sansa. This is something that will only render you helpless for a few hours. You might lose some time, but it won't kill you. I have no reason to. Shall I tell you my plan? You're scared, you need a distraction. I can help you with that."

Tyene knelt, stroking Sansa's hair. 

"Your husband, he is the one I'm going to poison first. He is the Mountain's brother, and anyone with the same blood as the Mountain must die. It's not safe for anyone otherwise. I almost poisoned your child, but I decided against it. I don't like to harm children. She won't remember her father, anyway. She won't grow up with the legacy of a monster held over her head. I will remove Cersei from the dungeons, kill her, and leave her in your room with Sandor. They're going to kill each other, isn't that terrible? Jaime will leave Winterfell once this is over. He won't have many options. Bronn will likely leave as well, to join Jaime. They've grown close, I've noticed. At least now, I can focus on a new purpose. There are Greyjoys to kill. After that, I really don't know, nor do I care what happens to me."

Tyene continued to kneel beside Sansa, smiling tightly as she observed the effects of the poison. "This is where I must leave you. I've got to be away from Winterfell before dawn, you understand. Truly, you can do better than the Hound. You're too pretty for a life of misery." Tyene stroked Sansa's hair, then her cheek, and stood, moving away from Sansa's line of sight. 

Sansa heard the door to Bran's room open, then close. She saw nothing, felt nothing, heard nothing. She willed her body to move, but she couldn't. Not even a bit. She leaked helpless tears, not feeling them run down her face, into her hair. 

Then her vision began to blur. The light grew dim, and she felt herself slipping under a silent veil of nothingness. She fought it with all her might, until it became more and more powerful. 

Bran, she thought desperately, hopelessly. Bran...I need your help. 

Sansa realized that she had no choice but to succumb to the darkness that was claiming her. She called out silently to Bran a final time. Then she knew nothing else, as the dizzying effect of the poison claimed her in a deep sleep.

 

 


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter! Sorry for yet another delay!

-Sandor-

 

"If you do anything foolish, I will slice you from ear to ear"

Sandor came fully awake in the dim night to realize that the Sand Snake, Tyene, was standing over him, holding a knife blade pressed firmly against his throat. His hand was already gripping her wrist in a brutally tight fashion, yet she pressed down harder. He felt a slight trickle of blood run down his neck. 

He could have easily over powered the girl,  but he hesitated to do so. It was the look in her eyes, smug and malicious, as if she had already set something devastating in motion.

Dread crept in his belly as he removed his punishing grip from her wrist. He slowly lowered his hand to the bed, seemingly at the mercy of Tyene. 

She sprang into action, straddling him and releasing the pressure off his throat, only slightly. "That's better," she purred, patting his cheek with her now freed hand. 

Sandor remained silent. He didn't hold much for theatrics. Just slit a man's throat and be done with it. Fucking Dornish madness, with their opulence and grand gestures. 

Tyene cocked her head side, still waiting. But he wasn't about to speak so easily, or perhaps she had hoped he'd beg for his life. His stubborn silence lingered, and she smiled. 

"Strong and silent man. Does he not want to ask where his wife is? She is....indisposed at the moment."

Sandor lost his patience. He launched himself forward abruptly, causing Tyene to slip in surpise, but only for a moment. He lunged toward the floor, righted himself quickly, and she was right there.

Sandor hurled himself away from her path as she whipped her knife at his face, missing him by a hair. 

He faced her, with just enough distance to give him what he hoped was a fighting chance. His weapons lay by the wardrobe behind him, and he did not dare turn his back. 

She smiled again, pacing the floor in front of him with the lithe, assured movements of a skilled hunter.

"What the fuck do you want?" Sandor stalled for time, slowly leading her toward the wardrobe. His sword, he needed his sword. 

Tyene laughed. "What do I want? Oh, Sandor, Sandor. What I want isn't important. You of all people should realize that. You and I, we are just...playthings. In a game," She laughed again, her white teeth glinting in the dimness of the room. 

Sandor took it as an opportunity and reached for his sword. Tyene apparently saw her opportunity as well. A knife flew swiftly toward him and found its mark directly in the flesh of his upper arm.

Sandor grit his teeth and gripped his weapon, swaying slightly. Something was wrong, the pain was not normal. He felt the usual tear and agony of the blade, but then hot, needle sharp pain bloomed like wildfire in his bicep. However he didn't dare jerk the knife from his arm, and risk bleeding out before he killed Tyene. 

Tyene dangled another knife, then ran it down her body in a sensuous manner. "I surrender, Hound. Rape me, torture me, kill me. Do whatever you Clegane men do to innocent women," she taunted. She sliced the bodice of her gown, and let it fall, revealing her supple, golden form. "Well?" she hissed angrily. Tears formed in her eyes but she never stopped, the knife clutched in her hand as it traveled every curve of her body. "Aren't  you going to take me? Shall I make it easy?" She tossed the second knife aside and held her arms open wide.

Confused, Sandor moved sideways and nearly tripped over something in the floor. It was solid and made a sound like a whimper, but he couldn't take the time to deal with it at the moment. He stepped over the obstacle, his eyes never leaving Tyene. 

She stood before him, naked and trembling, tears running unchecked down her cheeks. 

"Tyene," Sandor began, unable to decide what to say. Crying women were never anything he handled well. She had to die, but first he needed to find out where Sansa was. And Hope, Gods. Where was Hope? His heart lurched painfully. What had Tyene done?

Tyene fell to her knees with a sob. 

Just then, the chamber door opened with a bang, as Bronn arrived with several guards. 

Observing the scene, Bronn shook his head.  "Tyene," he said quietly.

Tyene glanced up at him, tears flowing, lip quivering. He walked slowly toward her, and she half raised, her arms outstretched. He gathered her to him, and she looked up at him hopelessly. Then she closed her eyes and buried her against his chest.

"Tyene, what did you do to Sansa? Is she dead?" Bronn asked her, rubbing her upper arms and staring straight ahead.

She sobbed louder, and shook her head. 

"She's just...sleeping then?" Bronn asked softly, kissing the top of Tyene's head as he continued to hold her, rubbing her back now. 

Tyene nodded wobbily. She leaned back and looked on the verge of passing out. Her eyes blinked rapidly.

"I see. Well, I suppose the only recourse is to wait until she wakes up," Bronn glanced from Sandor to Tyene. Tyene glanced at him, and nodded once, fixing her eyes on the ground. Her gaze strayed toward the knife she'd flung to the ground.

Bronn smiled and cupped her face as he tilted her head up. Their eyes locked. "You are a murderous whore, and you played me false. I despise that last quality in a woman." So quickly it was almost imperceptible, he twisted her head and snapped her neck. 

Everyone in the room watched as Tyene fell to the floor in a heap. 

Bronn hurried over to Sandor and yanked the knife from his arm. Sandor hissed and grabbed the wound as the blood began to flow. 

"There is a good chance that this knife is poisoned," Bronn told him. He held it carefully by the handle as he gingerly gathered the other one from the floor. "She probably figured on the chance of you killing her before she killed you. I mean, she's a lying, deceitful cunt, but she isn't stupid. Wasn't, I should say."

"Bronn," Sandor muttered. His heartbeat seemed to thud very loudly, in truth it pounded in his ears, a sort of dull rhythm. Thickly, he staggered and tried to keep his footing. 

Bronn ignored him. "You," he pointed at the youngest guard. "Wake Tarly, get him in here. He will deal with these," Bronn dangled the knives, "but Sandor will need him first. Quickly! Go!"

The young guard hurried off. The other guards stared wide eyed at Bronn.

"As for you lot, get the Lannister back down to her cell. Lock her up tight, for fuck's sake."

Looking down in surpise, Sandor noticed the thing he had stumbled over earlier was in fact Cersei Lannister, bound and gagged, eyes wide and terrified.

The guards hauled Cersei to her feet and spirited her away.

Sandor began to realize that he might not be able to stay on his feet after all, and fought his way to the bed. 

Bronn was somehow by his side and gripped Sandor's good arm, helping him find his way. 

"Steady on," Sandor heard him say, just before he blacked out completely. 

 


	48. Chapter 48

-Sansa-

 

"For fuck's sake! Do you think you can be a little more careful when you change that dressing, boy? It isn't a dead boar you're stripping."

Sansa felt herself coming awake slowly, to the sound of Sandor's angry voice. She blinked, noticing that all was dark around her. How long had she been sleeping?

"I _am_ trying to be careful, my lord." Sansa recognized Samwell's voice, weary and resigned. "Perhaps in the future, you can take more care of the way you talk to Gilly when she tries to help you."

Silence stretched on, and somehow Sansa knew Sandor would be fixing Sam with a particular glare that would make even a battle hardened soldier quake in their boots. 

"Her touch is undoubtedly more gentle," Sam continued, decidedly unruffled. "I've been awake for nearly two days. I'm changing your bandage, looking in on Lady Stark and Bran, then I am off to bed, where I intend to sleep for several hours. So, if you don't mind, I am taking care to ensure that your wounds will be well contained during that time."

Sansa almost laughed at the vexed tone that Sam had taken with one of the most formidable men in the Seven Kingdoms. 

"Whatever you must do, Maester Tarly," Sandor growled. 

Sam sighed, "I've asked you repeatedly not to call me that. I'm no Maester."

"And I've asked you repeatedly not to call me Lord Stark."

"Fair enough, apologies. But...what do I call you? Lord Clegane? I think not. That's not quite right either."

"Gods, no. The name Clegane can die for all I care."

"Surely you can't mean that."

"Oh, but surely I do. It holds nothing good for anyone, not anymore. Call me Sandor. Don't care much for propriety, never did. Just plain Sandor will be fine."

"Very well," Sam answered. After a moment he said, "Finished. Please, take care of your arm. Try not to strain it, and avoid getting the bandages wet. Milk of the poppy is here, in case it pains you too much to rest. I suggest plenty of it, by the way. Rest, that is."

"Aye," Sandor agreed tersely. 

Sam sighed again. "Right," he answered, skeptically. 

Sansa decided to make her presence known before an argument broke out. 

She sat up slowly, as the room begin to wobble around her. She tried to concentrate, though she wondered why the room tilted for a bit. When she was able to focus her eyes, she saw two surpised men staring at her. 

"My lady!" Samwell rushed over toward her, dropping old bandages and other sorts of things Sansa didn't care to look upon. 

Sansa stared at Sandor who looked back at her with an unreadable expression. She waited for him to say or do something, but he didn't so much as flutter a lash. 

"My lady," Samwell repeated, coming to her side. "How are you feeling?"

Ignoring the question, she managed a croaky "Hope...?"

Sam's eyes softened at her. "Hope is well, my lady. She came to no harm, she is safe with her nurse."

Sansa closed her eyes in relief for a brief moment, then swallowed. Not many knew of the baby she carried, save Sandor, the midwife, and Greta. She lifted her eyes to Sam and asked, "The child...the child I carry...is it?" 

Sam's eyes spoke his sympathy and sorrow. "I'm so sorry my lady, no. The child did not survive."

Sansa closed her eyes, tears burning until they spilled from her closed lids, leaking into her temples. 

"You...you slept for days. Three, to be precise. We spooned broth and water into you, trying to keep you strong enough to fight. It seems the poison you were given was quite powerful, as it's meant to cause a deep sleep for either a few days or a few weeks. Nobody knows how one will respond to it. I hadn't known of the pregnancy, but even if I had, there was precious little to be done. I am sorry, truly, my lady....I'll leave you with his lor- Sandor, now. Please call if you need anything."

Sam scurried away, and Sansa opened her eyes. Sam  _was_ clever, making himself scarce at this moment. She wanted to scream at him, to shake him for not doing anything he could to save the babe she carried. But he couldn't have. And she knew this. 

It didn't make it hurt any less. 

Sansa sat up fully, gazing at Sandor. "Sandor," she began, unsure of what to say. I'm sorry? She did not cause this, not truly. But guilt nipped at her all the same. Could she have prevented this from happening?

Sandor looked at Sansa without expression. She wished he would say something, do something. 

She wished he would hold her. 

Instead, Sandor rose swiftly. "You must be wanting a bath. And a meal, you must be near starving. I'll send for one straightaway."

Then he was gone. 

 

 

Sansa was grateful when Greta showed up shortly after, staying through her meager meal and her bath. Greta shooed the maids away, and once they'd gone, she told Sansa, "Now you can cry if you need to. Gossip is the last thing a grieving mother should worry about."

Sansa managed a smile at her. "It seems silly, to be this upset. I didn't quite know the babe yet. I was not carrying for long. It's just..." she trailed off, fresh tears springing to her eyes. 

Greta nodded sympathetically. "You mourn your babe. It's completely understandable. Most women feel the same. If not right away, then sometimes later on. You aren't silly at all."

Sansa felt renewed tears at Greta's empathy. She decided to change the subject. "How does Daniel fare?"

Greta smiled, as always, when she spoke of Daniel. "He has decided, it might be safe for us to marry after all. Euron is obviously precoccupied with Cersei being gone from Kings Landing. Easy pickings for him, or so he thinks. Either way, he won't need Daniel while he's living like a fat lord. Let him enjoy it while he can, I say. Once the dragon queen fires him to ashes, he'll be gone for good."

"You're to be married! You deserve happiness, Greta. You've been a breath of fresh air, not just for me, for everyone. Daniel is a lucky man." Sansa spoke sincerely, despite the hollow feeling in her heart. 

Greta winked. "That's what I tell him every day."

 

Sansa looked in on Hope just before bed. She'd longed more than anything to see her child, but she'd been afraid of bursting into tears and scaring her. She still felt a bit emotional, but she didn't want to miss the chance before Hope went to sleep. 

Everything she'd resolved flew out the window as soon as she laid eyes upon her child. Sansa held Hope and cried happy tears as she buried her face in her neck, her cheeks, kissing her and listening to her baby talk. She talked to Hope in return, pretending they could understand one another. Perhaps they could, she thought, looking into Hope's eyes. She was the very image of her father these days, Sansa thought, recognizing that intent look. 

Soon Hope began to yawn and grow temperamental, a sure sign she was ready for bed soon. The nurse said, "We are so pleased you are awake and well, my lady. Praise be to the gods." 

"I thank you," Sansa replied, though her smile might have been a bit watery.

Several songs and nearly an hour of rocking later, Sansa laid the Hope down in her bed. 

"Good night," Sansa whispered to Hope and the drowsing nurse. 

Shutting the door to the room and creeping quietly back into her chambers, Sansa stopped in her tracks. Sandor sat silently on the bed, clad only in breeches. His head was in his hands, and his shoulders were shaking. 

Sansa stood uncertainly. She'd never seen Sandor cry, not truly. He obviously thought he was alone, and she didn't dare walk back to Hope's room and risk waking her. She didn't know how to proceed. 

Finally Sansa decided to comfort him, though it might be the last thing he desired at the moment.

She walked slowly toward Sandor, her eyes full of sympathy. "Sandor," she murmured.

He stilled immediately, then he stood, turning away from her and walking toward the wardrobe. "Yes," he answered in a slightly scratchy voice. She saw him grab a shirt, dab his face quickly, then throw it on. He stood facing the wardrobe, not looking at her. 

Sansa pressed her lips together. Drawing in a silent breath, she tried to search for something, anything, to reach him. "Sandor, I'm sorry. I never should have left our room that night, had I stayed here..." she trailed off, unable to finish, her guilt over her hot-tempered actions making her fall silent. 

Sandor shut the wardrobe with perhaps more force than necessary. "I'll be in the armory. Your brother--cousin, will be here within a few days. Preparations must be made."

He strode to the door and was out it, never looked back. 

Leaving Sansa to ask herself, "What preparations must be made?" while she stood all alone in their room.

 


	49. Chapter 49

-Sandor-

They stood at the gate, watching as the procession came forth. 

Sansa stood stoic by his side, looking as beautiful and as cold as the mountainous plains to the north.

Sandor had meant to speak to her, properly, but he couldn't find the words. He'd eaited for them to come to him, for over a week. And now that time had fled. He'd fucked up. Again. 

The gate opened, drawing his attention to the present matter as Jon rode in, flanked by Ser Davos. Several soldiers formed a curved procession behind the two men. 

After they'd dismounted, Sansa hurried over to Jon, who hugged her, a peculiar and pained expression on his face. 

Sansa seemingly noticed as she pulled away, eyeing him under her lashes. She said nothing, simply moving on to greet Ser Davos. 

Jon greeted Sandor by grasping his forearm, Sandor doing the same. 

"How fares the North?" Jon asked. 

Sandor grunted. "There is always a threat, but we have managed to prevail thus far."

Jon stilled, something catching his eye over Sandor's shoulder. 

Sandor knew without looking behind him that Jaime Lannister stood, beside Bran who sat piled with furs in his chair. 

Jon strode over to Jaime, all kingly pretense gone. He shoved Jaime to the ground, and the kingslayer fell hard onto his haunches. When Jaime didn't attempt to stand, Jon dropped down to Jaime's level. "What do you think you're doing, Ser? Came back to make amends, is that it? You speak pretty words and clap us all on the shoulder, now all will be forgotten?"

"Ser Jaime has been tasked with the daily care of Bran," Sansa spoke up loudly and clearly. "He has been here for nigh upon three months now. His sister has joined us as well, though she resides in the dungeons. Come," Sansa linked her arm in Jon's. "There is much to discuss."

Jon rose slowly, turning toward Sansa. "Very well," he answered, leashing his anger. He carefully grasped Bran's shoulder, but the boy barely acknowledged him. Jon looked pained for a moment, but quickly smoothed his features. He followed Sansa inside, and Sandor trailed them, along with Ser Davos. 

Ser Davos greeted him with a nod. "I hear you were nearly killed by a Sand Snake."

Sandor glowered at him. 

Ser Davos smiled, and added "You survived. That's impressive. The Sand Snakes leave no survivors, normally. You must have more to accomplish, seeing as how the gods didn't take you just yet."

Sandor watched the thin, rigid back of his wife who walked before him, alongside Jon, who held his hand in the crook of her elbow almost absentmindedly. "Perhaps," he finally murmured in response. 

 

 

In the Great Hall, Sansa spoke of everything that had transpired since Jon had last been to Winterfell. 

"An execution," Jon said wearily, leaning back in his chair. 

"Aye," Sandor replied. "We've been waiting for you in regards to Cersei. It only seemed fitting."

Jon sat up, staring at Sandor with intense eyes. "Why wait any longer?"

 

 

They gathered back out in the front, just beyond the gates, near a group of large gray stones. 

Cersei was brought out and forced to kneel before them. 

Cersei managed a surprised look at the sight of Jon.

"Well", she murmured, licking her cracked lips. "If it isn't the finest member of the Targaryen family. Good morning, my lord. Have you come to watch the final strike toward the downfall of the Lannisters?"

Jon shook his head. "No," he replied. "I'm offering redemption."

Cersei chuckled. "Oh? What must I do? Bow before you? Swear my undying fealty? Tell me, how does a bastard rule, my lord? Does he make those who spit upon him crawl upon the dirt? Lick his boots?"

Jon didn't even flinch. "I do not mean redemption for you, Cersei," he answered, unsheathing his sword. He eyed it a moment, turning it and watching the weak sunlight glint off the blade. Then he lowered it and motioned toward Jaime. "Ser Jaime, please come forward."

Jaime walked toward Jon, his face pale and emotionless. "Yes, my lord?" he murmured. 

Jon turned to face Jaime, blocking his view of Cersei. "You're the one I wish to offer redemption to." He held his sword up to Jaime. "That is, if you wish to be redeemed. You can end this madness that has plagued us for so long."

Jaime looked Cersei. Finally his eyes rested on Jon, and he appeared to sway a bit. Swallowing, he nodded once. "Aye, my lord," he said in a voice barely above a whisper as he took the sword.

Jon stood back, so Jaime and Cersei faced one another. 

"If anyone has anything to say, now is the time to say it!" Jon shouted, turning slowly and looking around at the crowd gathered. 

Nobody moved. 

"Very well," Jon nodded at Jaime. Jaime walked closer toward Cersei, his steps jerky.

"Any last words, Cersei?" Jon asked her.  

Cersei eyed Jaime, an oddly peaceful look in her eyes. 

"If this is what must be, I am glad you are the one to do it," she told Jaime softly. 

Jaime looked as if he might weep. He raised the sword, his mouth tight.

Cersei lowered her head over the rock.

Jaime brought his sword down in a quick, hard motion. Cersei's body gave a final jerk, then her head toppled to ground with a soft thud. 

It was over. 

The crowd did not cheer. Some cried silently. Others stood completely still, looking as if they were in shock. Still others looked torn between relief and awe. 

Jaime let Jon's sword fall beside him. He stalked off, eyes blind with grief.

 

Jaime did not come to dinner that night. Brienne had gone to him, but said he just needed to be alone for now. She looked worried. 

Jon sipped his wine thoughtfully. "Very well," he responded.

Sandor gave a sidelong glance at Jon. Was he honestly expecting Jaime to turn up and dine with him this evening? 

 _Perhaps he is just saving face,_ Sandor decided. Being a King was not all roses and sunshine, Sandor knew this from his years of experience in the Kingsguard. But still...something in Jon's manner was a bit unnerving. 

The dinner seemed to last for ages. Some began to hide stifled yawns behind their hands as the wine slowly disappeared.

Finally, Jon stood. He told Sandor that he had several items of news from Queen Danerys, but they could surely wait until morning. They'd meet in the great hall, and Jon would tell him the progression of the Dragon Queen's plans. 

 Sandor trudged up to bed, Sansa behind him. They walked in silently, and readied for bed without so much as a glance at one another. 

Sandor leaned heavily against the wardrobe. Another fucking war, no doubt. Another battle where he'd have to leave Sansa behind yet again. Or worse, if one came here and his family would be in direct danger. 

He was bloody sick of it. 

Sandor stood and was by Sansa's side in three long strides. She dropped her nightgown, startled, clad only in her small clothes. 

"I don't know what Daenerys has planned," he told her, anguished. "I don't know where I'll be sent, or what is going to happen."

Sansa eyed him cautiously. 

"I don't know why I find it so difficult to talk to you, and I love you so bloody much. It feels like my heart is being ripped from my chest. I want to keep myself from you, I want to keep you and Hope safe. Your lives have been in danger constantly. I know I must fight. I just....I can't bear the hurt I've caused you. My love, I can't bear it. You deserve silks and riches and a life as beautiful as you. Not this. Not this uncertainty and bleak existence. And I cannot give you what you deserve. A fine husband I make," Sandor clenched his fists.

Sansa shook her head. 

"You don't understand," she told him. "I'm not the girl from Kings Landing any longer. I am a woman now. Your woman, Sandor. And if this is what we have, the fighting and the hardship, I will take it gladly if it means I stand by your side during the hard times. Because I know, Winter will not last forever. Cersei is dead. You've done so well, repairing things that you had no part in destroying. But Sandor," Sansa gripped his hand and looked into his eyes,  "You cannot keep shutting me out. It hurts too much. I needed you, when Sam told me about the babe. I needed my husband, Sandor, and you needed me. We do not have a marriage when we treat one another as strangers."

Sandor nodded, unable to speak. He leaned his head against hers, feeling his heart slowly thaw at her closeness. 

"Don't shut me out, Sandor," Sansa whispered again, bringing her hands up to stroke his face. 

"I won't,' Sandor whispered. "Little bird..." he broke off, feeling his hidden emotions swim to the surface.

Sandor kissed Sansa hungrily, removing her small clothes, yanking off his breeches. 

Sansa gasped as his lips sought her neck, his teeth grazing where his kisses left off. 

Sandor moaned low in his throat, her taste and smell invading his senses in the sweetest way. 

Picking her up, Sandor laid her gently on the bed. His mouth continued kissing and tasting every inch of her smooth skin, delighting in her gasps and soft moans. He reached the juncture of her legs, and he sighed happily as he buried his face between her legs. 

Sansa cried out as he tenderly bit the insides of her thighs. He grazed the lips of her sex, and her hips bucked. Sansa sat up, tugging him to her impatiently. 

"I need you," she told him breathlessly, tugging at his shoulders, trying to pull him towards her. 

Sandor chuckled. "Aye? What does my little bird need?"

Sansa huffed impatiently. "Sandor," she whimpered, squirming. 

Sandor positioned himself. "Do you mean this?" He filled her in one stroke. 

Sansa made an odd noise, her eyes fluttering shut. 

Sandor paused. "Are you....am I hurting you?" 

Sansa opened her eyes, glazed with lust. "No, you're not hurting me. It feels," she shifted her hips and took him in her deeper, causing his breath to come out in a hiss. "Ooooh...so good," Sandor thrust into her again, making her cry out. "Oh, Sandor, please," she whimpered, clinging to him, cheeks flushed, eyes half open. "Please don't stop".

Sandor was painfully hard. He plunged in and out of her sweet wetness, the ache growing until he felt his release getting close. He bucked and  quickly felt her come undone underneath him, her walls clenching his cock again and again. Sandor couldn't hold back as he spilled into her, nearly howling as she milked his cock, feeling the rush of his wetness filling her. 

Dazed, Sandor fell heavily to his side, bringing his hand up to stroke Sansa's cheek. "Was it too...I didn't hurt you?" He asked, worried again. 

Sansa shook her head, a sleepy, satisfied look on her face. "No, you didn't hurt me," she smiled, rolling over to face him. "You said it yourself: You'd never hurt me."

Sandor kissed her tenderly. "I love you, little bird."

Sansa kissed him back, drawing closer to him. "I know," she murmured. 

Sandor smirked. 

They held one another, stroking lazily, exploring one another's bodies with soft touches. 

After a while, Sansa stilled. Sandor thought she'd fallen asleep until she asked, "Why do you think Daenerys sent Jon here?"

Sandor had been wondering the same thing. "I've different thoughts regarding that. None of them good", he replied softly.

Sansa put her lips to Sandor's ear and whispered, "Why does she want him here, with us? She has no threat to her throne. The only one who could stand in her way is...."

Sandor pulled back and looked at her. "Aye," he agreed. "But he hasn't. Yet."

Sansa sighed. "Something is not right."

"No," Sandor replied. "Something has been planned. Tomorrow we must listen carefully. To what Jon tells us, as well as what he is not telling us."

Sansa nodded uneasily, tucking head against his chest, biting her lips thoughtfully. 

Sandor kissed the crown of her head. "My love, rest. They cannot kill everything with fire. Ice can be just as deadly. They'll soon learn this."

Sansa nodded again, but still looked anxious. 

But neither of them slept very well that night. 

 


	50. Chapter 50

-Sansa-

Jon was already in the Great Hall when the council, as it was, gathered the following morning. Ser Davos sat patiently by his side.

Sansa was not surprised that he was already there, and by the look on Sandor's face, neither was he. 

Jon smiled affectionately at Sansa as she took her seat on his right. "Good morning, Sansa."

Sansa forced a smile in return. "Good morning, Jon. Did you even sleep?"

Jon flashed a rueful grin that was so reminiscent of his former, boyhood self, Sansa felt a touch of relief graze her troubled mind. "Not a great deal," he answered. 

The others gathered round, Tormund, Ser Beric, Brienne, and Daniel. 

Sandor sat heavily down beside Sansa. 

"I suppose you're all curious as to what will happen to Kings Landing now that Cersei no longer can lay claim to it," Jon began. "I was sent to ensure her death, and to ensure that Jaime Lannister carried out the task. Cruel, but necessary. Especially since the death was foretold, by a witch to Cersei Lannister herself."

Everyone sat silently. 

Jon sat up straighter in his chair. "Now there is another matter, another threat to the throne. The only one standing in Daenerys Targaryen's way. That is the Night King."

Continuing silence settled in the Hall. 

Jon looked around the room seriously. "Why is the Night King still alive? The others have perished, far as we know. However, he continues to roam, to lie in wait, with a dragon. A dragon belonging to Queen Daenerys. And for that reason, she orders him to be captured. Alive."

Sansa drew a breath in. Madness. A swift death was the only way to stop the Night King. 

"Wouldn't the dragon come back to its original living form if the Night King is killed?" Ser Beric leaned forward, his good eye peering at Jon. "For what reason should the Night King live? I beg your pardon, my lord, but it seems to me that the longer the Night King lives, the more troubles that the lands will be plagued with."

Jon nodded at Ser Beric. "I believed the same, Ser Beric. Kill the Night King, all threats from the undead will be vanquished. However, there is something I did not know, something important that we must keep in mind."

Jon stood and nodded at his guard by the door. The guard left and returned quickly with Bran, wrapped in furs. Jaime flanked them, much to Sansa's astonishment. She'd imagined that Jaime and Bronn would have departed from Winterfell after the events that occured yesterday. Yet here came Bronn as well, holding a small box in his hand. Sam came quickly behind him, holding a dagger forged from dragon glass. 

Jon walked over to Bran, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Bran has done more than we've realized. He is, in truth, the last of his kind, the Three Eyed Raven. However..."

Jon unwrapped a portion of Bran's torso, exposing blue-white skin. 

"He is also a descendant of an ancient lineage, the last of its kind as well."

Jon took the dagger from a clearly reluctant Sam. Before Sansa could protest he pierced Bran's shoulder with the dagger. Bran barely reacted, but Sansa felt the pain as if it were her own. She rushed toward Bran, glaring at Jon. "Have you gone mad?!" Sansa examined Bran's shoulder, feeling a dampness along the front of her gown as she leaned over. 

Confused, Sansa looked down at her dress, noticing a spot of blood beginning to spread along her shoulder. 

She looked to Jon, horrified. 

Jon held out a cloth, which she took with slow, clumsy fingers. 

"The Night King must be captured alive," Jon told the room, his eyes alighting on Bran, then Sansa. "The future of Winterfell and the Stark lineage, depends upon it."

Chaos erupted in the room. 

Tormund rushed over to Jon. "How the bloody fucking hell did you know to do that, eh? What sort of sorcery are you and that Dragon woman playing at? Suddenly you have secrets while the rest of us fight every day for survival, like bloody pawns in a game?" He shoved Jon angrily who did not retaliate. He held his hand up when Ser Davos made to stop Tormund. 

Tormund grinned madly at Ser Davos. "I wish you'd try, old man."

"Enough!" Jon told the men. 

Ser Beric had rushed to Bran, glancing up at Sam. "How can this be....?" He asked weakly, looking at the small wound on Bran's shoulder. Bran remained impassive, his eyes shut, still as stone. 

Brienne had rushed toward Sansa. "My lady, let me help you," she said, giving Jon a glare. "Honestly, this point could have been driven home in better ways, my lord."

She took Sansa's hand and began to lead her out of the room, but was cut short by Sandor who gathered Sansa delicately to his side. 

"What do you think you're playing at, Jon? You come in here wielding knives, harm my wife and her brother, make demands that we capture this fucking dead man, or else? You'd harm your own family, for the sake of a woman you just met? A woman who will stop at nothing to be Queen?"

Brienne tugged Sansa away carefully. "Come my lady."

 Sansa followed Brienne out the Hall, the shouting of men being shut off as the door closed behind them. 

Brienne took Sansa to her chamber and called for hot water. She carefully cleaned the cut, which was healing in a rapid fashion. 

Brienne frowned at it, and looked at Sansa. "My lady," she began uncertainly.

"I had....no idea." Sansa felt the words tumble from numb lips. "I had not even the faintest idea that something like this was possible." That was better, her voice sounded stronger. She stood, and an idea hit her like a stone. She hurried into Hope's room, where Hope was having morning play with Gilly and Baby Sam. Sansa picked up her daughter and examined her shoulder, ignoring Hope's squawks of protest. 

It was fine. 

Sansa breathed a sigh of relief as she sat back down upon the rug with her confused daughter. 

"It can't harm her," Gilly told Sansa quietly. "She has the blood of your husband to protect her." 

Sansa stared at Gilly. "You knew?" She felt her eyes grow wide. "You knew as well?"

"I heard Jon and Sam talking last night." Gilly answered, looking apprehensively at Sansa. "Sam and Jon were both confident that your child would not be harmed. However I came here myself, to be certain. And this means, my lady, that you possess certain....abilities."

"Abilities?" Sansa hissed in disbelief. "What sort of abilities? By the gods, someone better give me an explanation!"

Gilly eyed her calmly. "I will tell you more than the men would, my lady. It always baffled me, that most men think themselves the stronger of the sexes. Men fight in battle, true. But women bear the pain of childbirth, hold the secrets of love and life, they see and hear and feel everything, yet say so little. Tell me, who is the stronger of the two?"

Sansa could not answer. Her chest heaved in rage. Hope squirmed to look at her mother and Sansa fought to control herself. 

Gilly pressed her lips together as she looked at Sansa.

"You Stark children are descendants of the oldest family in Westeros. The ancient ones. Before there were men, or Kings, there were the ancient ones. They held powers, magic as some say. But there were wicked ones as well. Ones who sought to take this power and use it for their own glory. After some time, the ancient ones learned to conceal their magic, in order to protect themselves. They married their sons and daughters to ordinary folk, which caused the powers to die out. But every once in a great while, there would be a child born, one that held the powers that others sought to gain. The ancient Pyre would protect them, but he could not live forever. He died, by murder or natural cause, one can not be certain. This left the Green Seers, the children, so innocent and yet so powerful, all alone. They were naive, and they fell prey to the wicked ones sometimes. They learned to hide, to protect themselves, especially against their greatest threat. The Night King and his army of Undead."

Brienne snorted in disbelief. "This sounds like a children's bedtime story. Honestly!"

"It was," Gilly agreed. "It likely still is," she shook her head. "Who would believe it true?"

Sansa stared at Gilly. "The Night King...he wanted to take the children."

Gilly nodded. "My family was given protection in exchange for supplying the Night King with male children. Male children who were trained to follow the bidding of the Night King. I couldn't....I wouldn't let them take Baby Sam. I took him, and ran with Samwell. They came for us, and we hid in a hut. That was when Sam discovered they could be killed with weapons made from dragon glass."

Sansa blinked slowly. "What is our....power?Why are we a threat?"

Gilly shook her head, frowning. "That's what Sam is still trying to figure out. 

Sansa stood, her head spinning. She recalled Bran's quiet demeanor, all his visions. He must have known. He had never spoken of it, to anyone. 

Why?

"I need to see Bran." She said no one in particular.

Sansa strode toward Bran's chamber, Brienne following close behind. 

Bran was not there. 

Bronn and Jaime sat by the fire, silent and drawn. 

"Where is Bran?' Sansa demanded. 

The men eyed her apprehensively, as if she were an odd sort of creature. Had she not been so upset, she would have fought back a laugh. 

"He's gone to the training yard with the other men." Jaime answered. 

Sansa took Brienne out into the hall. "Stay here, with Jaime and Bronn. Do not let them out of your sight." 

Brienne did not question her, simply nodded and turned to enter the chamber. 

"Brienne," Sansa said. 

Brienne turned toward her. 

"Why did Jaime come to Winterfell to begin with?" Sansa asked.

Brienne looked uncomfortable. She swallowed and answered "He wished for me to leave Westeros with him." 

Then she quickly darted into the chamber. 

Sansa blinked, then headed outside, fully prepared to demand some answers and explanations. 

Gilly had the right of it, she thought angrily. Women are fierce, and not to be trifled with. 


	51. Chapter 51

-Sandor-

 

Gritting his teeth till they were nearly bloody bits, Sandor faced Jon in the training yard. 

"Why did you hurt her? What purpose did it serve?"

Sandor hadn't meant for his voice to sound so...telling.

Jon stood upright, his posture proud. But his eyes told another story. 

He was afraid. Somehow Sandor knew it wasn't only fear of him. Fear of something else, fear of what?

Jon hesitated. 

"Speak, my lord," Sandor growled. 

Jon raised his eyes toward Sandor. 

"Bran is connected to the Night King. Sansa and Arya are connected to Bran. That means we can't kill the Night King without killing the remaining Starks."

Sandor stared at him, furious and terrified. "Are you saying," he began slowly, "that the little she-wolf now has a wound on her shoulder as well?"

"Aye," Jon said. "The Night King is out there with a wound himself. And probably none too pleased about it, I'd imagine. Which means we must be prepared to fight the undead again. Tell me Sandor, how many dead men did you leave in King's Landing?"

Sandor felt himself blanch.

Jon closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them, the raw truth he saw hit Sandor like a punch to the gut. 

"You'll not harm them," Sandor told him, with a ferocity he'd not felt in a great while. He shook with rage. "You will not lay one bloody finger on them."

"That's not my intention," Jon said. "Why do you think I came here?"

Sandor glared silently.

"I don't want to kill my family!" Jon told him. "Now, what would you have me do, Sandor? There are dead men lining the path to Kings Landing. The Night King will have no trouble rebuilding an army. As long as there is war and death, he won't be stopped! Shall we chase him forever, cutting down his army, but never him? Daenerys has lost a dragon to him, she has suffered loss as well, yet even she believes-"

Tormund cut Jon off, his voice low and furious.

"We've fought for you,  _my lord_. We've endured, rebuilt, protected. Now you tell me you've washed your hands of the North, of the Starks? Wildlings, well, they were never considered at all. I suppose now that you're the Dragon Queen's pretty boy prince, you can finally _order_ us to do your bidding" Tormund sneered. "Fuck you, Jon Snow. I've known you for a long time, and a lot longer than that cunt who has been kissing your arse," Tormund motioned angrily towards Ser Davos who remained close to Jon's side. "I knew you when you had honor and gave half a shit about your people. Now I don't know who you are." Tormund spat upon the ground, near Jon's feet, and walked away. 

Jon looked around at the remaining men. 

"I don't want anyone to die," he said again, softly, and if Sandor had been anyone else, he might have felt sorry for him. 

Sandor shook his head. "Then figure out what else we must do. Because you  _will not harm the Starks."_

He turned and went inside, meeting Sansa on the stairs. Her face was tight with fury. 

Sandor took one look at her, picked her up and hauled her over his shoulder. He felt her stiffen in shock as he carried her up the stairs. 

"What are you doing?" Sansa hissed at him as she pounded his back with her fists. "Let me go, Sandor!"

Sandor ignored her, and continued on. 

Sansa gave a yelp of fear as she writhed and fought against him in earnest. 

Did she honestly think he'd hurt her? Sandor shook his head, hurrying toward their rooms. 

Brienne stuck her head out of Bran's chamber at the commotion as they passed by. "What are you doing?" She exclaimed, quickly catching up to Sandor, gripping his arm. "Unhand her, Sandor! You're hurting her, you brute!" She yanked Sandor toward her, fighting him off. "Oaf! Put her down immediately!"

Sandor stilled. "I would never harm Sansa," he growled. "I'm removing her from the presence of those who might wish her harm. Now, kindly get the fuck out of my way."

"Sandor!" Sansa shrieked as Sandor elbowed past Brienne and headed for their chambers. He crossed inside and shut the door firmly behind him. Then he bolted the door, and carried Sansa to the bed, where he dumped her. 

She was up immediately, rising to her feet, her beautiful face flushed and outraged. "Have you gone completely mad? What in the the seven hells do you think you're doing, hauling me around like a grain sack?"

 "You are not to go anywhere near Jon or Davos, under any circumstances. Do you understand me?" Sandor told her. 

Sansa looked at him soberly. "What did they tell you?"

Sandor shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Just stay away from them." He came to Sansa's side, protectively cupping her cheek, lowering his face close to hers. He nuzzled her, the sweetness of her skin like a drug to his senses. He closed his eyes, dread swamping his belly at the thought of anything happening to her. 

Sansa leaned into his touch, gripping his hand in hers. She looked up at him, eyes full of emotion. "Sandor, if something were to happen to me-"

Sandor felt his chest constrict. "Don't talk like that, Sansa," he said. 

"Listen to me," she insisted. "Hope didn't suffer the same affliction. She has your blood, and that saved her from being harmed."

Sandor blinked. He'd not even considered that Hope might have been harmed as well. His blood boiled anew. "He is lucky I didn't kill him where he stood, king or not," he growled.

Sansa paused, looking up at him oddly. "Your blood protected her. Why is that?" She turned and walked slowly toward the window. 

Sandor watched her anxiously. She stood sliently for a long time. 

Sansa suddenly turned and began to undress. 

Sandor felt himself starting to gape. Quickly he gathered his senses. "Sansa," he began. 

Sansa hurriedly undid her stays. "You and I are going to bed," she informed him briskly. "Then I must get write a letter to Arya. Straight away."

Sandor stared her, standing before him in all her naked splendor. "Not that I mind going to bed with you in the middle of the day," he said, finally giving in and removing his belt, "just curious as to what brought this on, now."

Sansa moved to him impatiently, removing his tunic. She ran her hand over his broad chest appreciatively, then hurried to tug his breeches off. 

In spite of everything that had happened that day, Sandor couldn't help but smile. "All right, little bird," he murmured, moving to help her. 

They tumbled into bed, Sansa loving him in a passionate frenzy. Sandor was awed and delighted at her wildness, her abandon. 

It was over quickly. He didn't linger, as she had no patience for lovemaking. It was fucking, plain and simple. Sandor felt a bit guilty, as if he'd somehow taken advantage of her crazed state, but Sansa seemed pleased. She kissed him passionately, and stood to dress. 

Sandor followed her lead, tugging his clothes back on. 

"You're writing a letter, now? You were serious." He said, voice muffled as he pulled his tunic back on.

Sansa smoothed her hair, adjusted her skirts. "I was," she said. "Now we must get that raven to Arya."

Sandor followed her out the door. He hoped whatever she was up to was clever enough  to work. 

 


	52. Chapter 52

-Sansa-

Drumming her fingers lightly along the table, Sansa stared at the quill and parchment before her. 

How would she send a raven to Arya, in secret? If Arya was even still at Dragonstone. What if Arya had ran? Did she know about their predicament? Did anyone tell her?

Sandor shifted quietly behind her, startling her out of her musings. She dipped the quill in ink, holding it above the parchment. Sighing she stuck the quill back into the sand and turned toward Sandor. 

He quirked a brow at her. "Trouble with your correspondence, my lady?"

How he could jape at a time like this was beyond her scope of understanding. She smiled sweetly at him. 

"As a matter of fact, it's nothing that my lord husband couldn't remedy for me," she said in a coquettish tone.

He quirked a brow at her. "Shall I sing you a song for inspiration?"

They must both be going mad under the dire circumstances, she decided as she laughed. His eyes widened in surprise and he gave her that crooked smile the one that always charmed her.

"I need you to write one" she told him. "My letter will be expected. Yours might not draw as much interest."

Sandor frowned. "A single letter, sent at this time? It will detect notice, little bird, no matter whom it's from."

"True enough," she conceded. "However, I can send one myself as well," she lost herself in thought a moment. "As well as Gendry."

"Gendry?" He asked, dubiously. "What the fuck for?"

"Sandor, language," she reproached him from habit, her thoughts miles away. "I need Gendry here, but discreetly. Can you do that?"

Sandor shrugged. "Write your letter, fetch the boy in secret. Anything else my lady requires?"

Sansa ignored his sarcastic tone. "That will do for now, my lord husband," her voice dripping with false sweetness. 

His mouth quirked, then drooped. "I will not leave you alone."

"Nobody knows I'm here," she reasoned. 

Sandor glowered a moment, his face a riot of emotions. Finally he unsheathed a dagger and pressed it into her hand. "Lock this door behind me. Stay quiet, away from the window. Only open the door if you hear my knock. All right?"

Sansa hid a smile. "Yes, husband,"

He gave her a warning look, not fooled by her docile tone in the slightest. Then he left, the door closing up behind him. 

Sansa hurried over to lock it. Then his footsteps retreated. 

Setting the dagger down at the table, Sansa took up her quill once more, jotting a short message to Arya. She hoped that between the three letters, Arya would heed the warning and take her advice. Her heart clenched at the thought of what she was asking Arya to do. But their survival depended upon it. 

Sansa sighed uneasily. She prayed to the gods she was doing the right thing. There just seemed no better way, and she didn't have time to ponder upon the problem. She had to act, quickly. 

Three gentle raps came at the door. Picking the dagger up and padding softly toward the door, Sansa unlocked it, standing away from the slight opening she allowed. 

Sandor squeezed in, followed by Gendry, who's brow was slightly puckered in what Sansa knew must be confusion. 

Gendry faced her, uncertainly. "My lady." He waited. 

Sansa tried to smile at him, but it was difficult. Sighing to herself, she decided to just be out with it. 

"Gendry, I know you care for Arya. I know she cares for you, as difficult as she can be, especially about matters of the heart."

Gendry seemed puzzled at the turn of the conversation. Whatever he'd been expecting, clearly this wasn't it. "I..." he faltered. "Yes, I care for her," the words fell out of him, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. "But-"

Sansa held up her hand. "Hear me first. You understand the reason Jon has come to Winterfell?"

Gendry's face darkened considerably. "I believe I do, my lady."

Sansa gathered her nerve. "What if I told you there was a way to fix our...situation?"

Gendry cocked his head to the side.

"I'd say I am listening, my lady." Gendry said. 

"I want you to find Arya. Marry her or don't, but you will need to get her with child. As soon as possible."

Gendry's face was a priceless sight to behold. 

"My lady,' he said, once he was able to speak again. "This seems...hardly proper. I can't just, get your sister with child. It isn't right and besides that, she'd probably gut me if I even tried."

Sandor gave a snort of laughter. "Quite right, lad," he drawled. 

Sansa ignored Sandor's comment. "Gendry, it is of the utmost importance that you try. Because her life depends on it."

Gendry looked bewildered. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"All right," Sansa took his arm, sat him down in a stool, taking her seat beside him. "When Jon cut Bran earlier, it cut me, and likely Arya as well."

"Yes," Gendry said, the fierce look in his eyes giving Sansa hope. Arya could do far worse than this boy, who might even love her. Perhaps that would be one less thing to worry about, the pairing of the two. 

"Hope was not harmed. Hope was not harmed because she shares Sandor's blood." Sansa continued on, waiting for them to understand. 

Gendry and Sandor stared at her blankly. 

Sansa huffed. "If I carry Sandor's child, if Arya carries your child, do we not have another's blood within us?"

Slowly, comprehension dawned upon the men. 

Sandor looked as if he'd been punched in the gut. She knew he was thinking of the baby they'd lost. She knew he wondered, as she had wondered, of how different things could have gone had she still carried the babe. She fought aside the feeling of loss and sadness that continued to plague her and focused on Gendry. 

"This is either completely brilliant, or completely stupid," Gendry said as he leaned back slowly, his eyes searching blankly in front if him, as if his thoughts were racing. 

"Mind your tongue, boy," Sandor growled. 

"No, he's right," Sansa said. "It's either going to work or it's going to fail spectacularly. But," she looked up at Sandor, taking his hand. "We have to at least try."

Sandor's eyes softened at her, then hardened again as he looked at Gendry. "What say you, boy?"

Gendry shook head, a bemused expression upon his face. "Shouldn't you call me Gendry, if we're to be brothers?"

"In-law," Sandor rolled his eyes. "Don't go putting the horse before the cart, lad. You don't know that the she-wolf will agree to this plan."

Sansa stood, tugging at Gendry's elbow. "Which is why we are all here," she said, eager to set the second part of her plan into motion. "We've some letters to write."

Gendry paused, his cheeks burning. "Ah...I can't write, my lady."

Sansa paused, surprise and chagrin filling her. She should have considered that possibility. 

"Then I will help you," she told him calmly. "No time like the present to learn."

"Proper training and proper learning," Sandor mused. "We just might make a king's son out of you yet?"

Gendry scoffed, looking uncertainly at Sansa. "I can write a little. Read some. But there isn't enougn time to learn enough to write a letter."

Sanss nodded. "We'll need Brienne and Podrick," she said, looking expectantly at Sandor. 

He groaned but did as she wanted. 

After explaining the situation to the two, Brienne looked at Sansa with wide eyes. "My lady, you know I'll do as you command. But may I ask why you need Podrick?"

Podrick cleared his throat nervously.  "I can't write either, my lady."

Sansa smiled gently at him. "That's quite all right Podrick. I need something else from you. What I'll need is someone to accompany Gendry to Dragonstone. Someone brave and trained by the best fighters in Westeros. I don't expect trouble for the two of you, but one should always be prepared. Besides, I know I can trust you."

Podrick smiled tentatively at her, his eyes alight with equal parts of pride and worry.

Brienne frowned. 

"I'm not asking you to go," Sansa told her. "In fact, I'd much prefer you to stay."

Brienne kept her face serious, though a smile touched her eyes. "Of course, my lady."

Sansa smiled at her. 

"So it's settled," Sansa told them.

They all nodded.

"Good," she said, relieved. 

In the end, it was decided that Brienne would help Gendry with his letter. Which was easier said than done. 

"You know," Brienne said, after several minutes of frustrated silence were all that came from Gendry. "It's not exactly the stuff of songs and romance when a letter simply says, Dear Arya."

Gendry huffed. "I realize that," he said. "This isn't easy. I've never done this before."

"Just...tell her how you feel," Sansa encouraged him. "Tell her you miss her, you've been thinking of her."

Gendry shook his head. "If I sound all flowery, she'll know something is amiss. She'll just laugh at me. She isn't the type of girl who likes that sort of thing."

Sansa had to agree. "No, she isn't, is she?'

"Tell her about Winterfell," Sandor spoke up. "Tell her about the horses, how they're thriving. There are new colts in Winterfell's stables. How they can barely stand but force themselves to learn, day after to day, until they can run in the paddocks with their mothers. How they are wild, just for a little while, and how beautiful it is to watch. Tell her how you train every day, how different it feels to fight in the cold. How every move is sharper, more clear. Tell her you wish she was here with you, trying to brain you on ground where she grew up watching and learning from the other boys, knowing she was meant for so much more than sewing and skirts"

The room was silent as a tomb. Everyone stared at Sandor in awe. 

He shrugged off their stares, motioning toward the parchment in front of Brienne. "Well? In case you've forgotten, we're a bit pressed for time. Write it."

Brienne blinked, and turned back to the parchment silently, the scratching of the quill the only sound to be heard. 

After a moment, Gendry spoke. "Tell her--"

"Quiet," Brienne told him firmly, the quill still going.

"Right," Gendry mumbled. The room went silent again. 

 After a fashion, Brienne straightened. "Finished," she declared, replacing the quill and sanding the paper. 

Sansa rose and read it over Brienne's shoulder. "Beautiful," she said, meeting Brienne's eyes with a smile. 

Brienne smiled back. "It is," she agreed, and Sansa knew that her opinion of Sandor had elevated slightly, at least for the time being. 

"All right," Sandor grumbled. "Let's get on with it."

Sansa recited another courteous letter to Arya as Sandor copied her words upon another sheet of parchment. Sandor signed his name to it with a grimace. "She'll laugh in my face."

"Gods willing, we'll get the opportunity for that," Sansa said softly. 

Sandor looked at her seriously. "Yes," he agreed quietly. 

All that was left to do was wait for the ink to dry. 

"I suppose Podrick and I will go below," Brienne said. "It might rouse suspicion if we're all gone at the same time."

Sansa nodded. "Thank you Brienne. Thank you Podrick. Truly," she added. 

They both nodded at her before they left. 

Gendry shifted uncomfortably. "I suppose I'll wait a few moments and follow them," he said. 

Sansa nodded. "It's getting close to dinner. I suppose I should show my presence in the kitchen before too long."

Sandor nodded. "I'll seal these and send them off."

Sansa smiled at him. He have her a small smile in return. 

Sansa walked below with Gendry. "If anyone asks, you were telling me stories about Arya, about the time you were captured together."

Gendry nodded, silent as they descended the stairs. Suddenly he smiled. "She ever tell you about Hot Pie?" he asked. 

"Hot Pie?" Sansa echoed.  

Gendry laughed. "It's actually a name. Of a boy we knew then."

Sansa was laughing along with Gendry as they walked into the dining hall. Jon and Ser Davos were there, both with somber expressions. They rose as she walked into the room. 

"Leave us," Jon told Gendry. 

Gendry hesitated, looking at Sansa. 

"It's all right," she told Gendry, smiling at him, with a reassurance she didn't quite feel. 

Gendry paused a fraction longer, but turned and left the room.

Sansa faced Jon and Ser Davos. 

Jon indicated to the seat before him. "Won't you sit?"

"I prefer to stand, if you don't mind, my lord." Sansa's tone was as cold as the frost on the branches in the early morning. 

Jon looked at her imploringly. "Sansa, I know how this seems. Believe me."

"And what am I to believe, my lord?" Sansa asked calmly. 

"Contrary to popular opinion here," Jon said, his voice heavy with uncustomary sarcasm. "I did not show up at Winterfell to kill you."

Sansa let her breath out quietly. 

"Oh, cousin." She looked into his eyes. "That is precisely why you were sent here."

Jon's eyes widened. 

Sansa held his gaze unflinchingly. "If there is nothing else, I must see to dinner preparations my lord."

Jon nodded and turned from her. 

Sansa walked away, her heart pounding. 

She hoped they all didn't lose their heads. 

 


	53. Chapter 53

-Sandor-

 

"You know, you could have told me sooner that your family was going to be so...involved in our marriage."  
  
Sandor sat on a stool, clad only in breeches, polishing his boots.   
  
Sansa was at her dressing table, combing out her hair.   
  
"Something you should have considered before you seduced me," she said calmly.  
  
Sandor snorted. "I seduced you, love? Not quite. I seem to remember you insisting we sleep together that night. Naked."  
  
Sansa put her comb down and stood, clad only in her flimsiest night gown, a smile ghosting her face.   
  
"I was exhausted, Sandor," she padded over to him as he dropped his boots and gathered her in his arms.   
  
Draping herself around him, she added, "I was afraid, also. I needed my protector with me."  
  
Sandor smiled and lowered his face to hers. Their lips barely brushed, as he whispered, "You're trying to make me forget that you deliberately tried to frighten your poor old husband to death earlier, aren't you?"  
  
Sansa kissed him, a faint brushing of lips that made him ache for her.   
  
She smirked. "You're hardly old, Sandor. And it wasn't very kind of you to shout at Gendry. He has a duty to attend to, and I can't have his performance affected by your brutish threats of violence."  
  
Sandor buried his face against Sansa's jawline, trailing a few kisses against her neck. "He'll be fine. He's young, randy, and still a bit foolish. He'll have no worries about his performance."  
  
Suddenly, Sandor leaned back to look at Sansa.   
  
"I love you," he said, frowning even as he spoke the tender words. "I haven't told you that enough lately."  
  
Sansa smiled at him, pulling him toward her. "I know you do," she whispered, between kisses. "I love you, Sandor. You're a brute, but a very handsome one."  
  
Sandor scoffed, even as his heart gave a painful tug at her words.   
  
Nearly an hour later, they both lay sprawled on the bed, sweat drying from their skin, panting and replete.   
"Well," Sandor said after a long silence. "If you're not pregnant by now, I can't fully call myself a man."  
  
Sansa nestled herself against him and he felt it, the moment she drifted into sleep. He kissed the crown of her head.   
  
Somehow, he did not feel tired. He felt invigorated, refreshed. As if he could take on an entire army by himself.  
He sighed to himself, thinking that was a likely possibility, the way things were progressing.   
  
Shaking off the gloomy thoughts, he slowly slid out of bed and dressed. He ordered more guards for Sansa and Hope, then slid outside.   
  
He felt...expectant. Something was coming, he felt it in his bones.   
  
A shadow of movement caught his eye, in the armory.   
  
Curious, Sandor crept toward the door, listening.   
  
"....what about Bran? He can hardly carry a child. What can be done then?"  
  
It was Jon's voice.   
  
Ser Davos answered, "You can hardly be expected to have all the answers at this point, my King. The best we can do is try for the babes. Bran can wharg, can he not? Perhaps he can...."  
  
"No," Jon said harshly. "I'll not ask that of him. And I will ask you to never mention that again."  
  
"Forgive me, your grace," Davos replied. "But childbirth is dangerous as well. And if we're asking your family to trade one danger for another, why not let Bran climb again? Let fly. He can do it. You've got to let him try. He's confined to his chair, day after day. Give him an opportunity to be free."  
  
"You go too far," Jon said, angrily. "You go too far, Ser Davos. You don't have a family in danger, you don't know what you're asking."  
  
The silence that followed was long and uncomfortable.   
  
"I apologise, Ser Davos," Jon spoke again, stiffly. "My remark was in poor form. I beg your pardon."  
  
"Of course, my King," Davos said smoothly, a tinge of sadness underlying his tone.   
  
Jon sighed. Everything was quiet, save the rustle of the wind.   
  
Finally, Jon spoke again.  
  
"I'll speak to Sansa about it. She lost a child recently. Perhaps she is willing to try again. I don't know. And Arya," Jon added doubtfully. "She isn't exactly the marriageable type. I can't see her bending to a husband's will, can you?"  
  
"No, I cannot," Ser Davos said with some amusement. "But Sansa is no shrinking flower herself. Her husband respects her, being a strong man himself. The right husband will allow Arya to also just be herself, and not require her to bend to his will. Love makes one do it gladly."  
  
Jon laughed bitterly. "You speak the truth."  
  
Ser Davos chuckled. "Queen Daenerys inspired loyalty in you, did she?"  
  
"Aye," said Jon. "But I wasn't thinking of Queen Daenerys just now."  
  
"Ah," said Ser Davos. "I'm sorry, my king."  
  
"No matter, it can't be helped." Jon replied quickly, his voice brightening as he added, "Gendry is on his way to Arya, with Brienne's squire. Perhaps he wants to ask for her hand in marriage. I'm sorry I won't be able to see that moment for myself."  
  
Sandor found himself smiling in agreement. Despite Sansa and her protests otherwise, he was certain the little she-wolf would likely gut him if Gendry didn't play it just right.   
  
"Agreed," Davos said. "So, we leave tomorrow?"  
"Aye, at the command of Daenerys. She has it on good authority that Euron Greyjoy is doubling back to Kings Landing."  
  
"Euron," Davos grumbled. "He's a stain on humanity, that one, a stain that you can't wash out."  
  
"He'll be washed out, into his precious bloody sea. I'll see to it personally. You know, Davos, I'm tired. I'm tired and I'm ready for peace."  
  
"Understandable," Davos replied.   
  
Sandor chose that moment to slip away. He agreed with that last bit wholeheartedly.   
  
The next morning, Sandor relayed what he'd heard to Sansa.   
  
She sighed. "Clever Jon," she said. "A bit late, but nontheless, he cannot be allowed to impede Gendry's progress in any way."  
  
"So we stall him," Sandor shrugged. "I know a man, and a lady, that can help with that."  
  
Tormund was only to happy to unleash the Wildling spirit that he had been forced to contain while in Winterfell.  
  
"We'll give them a fight, eh?" He nudged Brienne who all but snarled at him. "Those two have grown soft. It'll do them good."  
  
Brienne sighed. "Is this truly your grand scheme? To duel with Sansa's brother and his hand? Over a horse?"  
  
Sandor rolled his eyes. "You have any better ideas, my lady?"  
  
Brienne pursed her lips. "None that wouldn't go directly against the Dragon Queen's orders."  
  
"Which is not trouble we can afford at the moment. We need a day, at least. Preferably two. Gendry needs time to accomplish his...task."  
  
"So we injure but don't kill," Brienne grumbled. "Fine."  
  
Sandor looked at Tormund pointedly. "We don't kill them, Tormund."  
  
"Aye, aye," Tormund impatiently. "Let's begin."  
  
Breakfast started peaceably enough.   
  
Tormund ate in haste, but nobody gave it much thought. He always ate as if he didn't know where his next meal would come from.   
Sansa refused to let anyone chastise him for it.   
She held a soft spot in her heart for Tormund, and he knew it. Which is why Sandor had agreed to the first part of the plan.   
  
"My lady," Tormund addressed Sansa. "I was wondering if I could seek your permission to ride to the Wall later. I thought I'd leave today, spend the next there, and ride back the third."   
  
Sansa blinked. "I don't see why not. But I must ask, what made you desire to ride to the Wall?  
  
"I wanted to see," Tormund said, toying with his fork, "if anything was left. If anyone...well, if any unfinished business lies behind."  
  
Sansa nodded. "Of course," she replied. "You'll need a horse...and should you go alone? Jon, perhaps, if you weren't opposed to the idea..."  
  
"Ser Davos and I were summoned to return by Queen Daenerys," Jon said bluntly. "As soon as possible. You understand, Sansa."  
  
Sansa looked at him for a long moment then turned to Tormund. "You may take Jon's horse," she said graciously, malice underlining her voice. "Seeing as how Daenerys requires Jon's prescence immediately, she has likely arranged transportation for him."  
  
Sandor shoveled in a bite of food, trying to hide a snicker.   
  
Tormund gave Sandor a look of triumph.   
  
"If you're sure..." he said innocently, looking between Sansa and Jon, who both glared at one another furiously, paying no heed to Tormund. "That's most kind of you, my lady. As far as going alone, well....I thought, perhaps, Lady Brienne might accompany me. She's an excellent fighter and horsewoman."  
  
Brienne shot a look of indignation at him.   
  
Sandor nearly choked.   
  
"What?" Sansa brought her attention back to Tormund. "Oh...Tormund, I don't think that would be the best idea. Brienne is needed here with me. Perhaps Daniel is ready to travel...?"  
  
Greta shook her head nearly imperceptibly at Sansa, while Daniel looked hopeful.   
  
"Perhaps Daniel is needed here as well," Sansa said hastily. "I suppose it truly is narrowed down to Ser Beric or Lady Brienne."  
  
"Ahem," Bronn cleared his throat pointedly, from his seat between Jaime and Bran. "We're able to ride, my lady. I've even been told I'm fair at swordplay as well, from time to time."  
  
"While that's certainly true, you are needed here at Winterfell as well," Sansa said with steely sweetness.   
  
"My lady," Ser Beric said, casting an apologetic glance at Brienne, who was giving him a desperate look. "I don't know that I am able to make this journey. My strength and light, it's not what it once was."  
  
Sansa nodded thoughtfully. She looked at Brienne who was practically begging for Sansa to choose someone else with her eyes and facial expressions.   
  
Sansa gave Tormund a stern look. "You do realize that Brienne is my sworn sword, and a highborn lady, Tormund?"  
  
Tormund nodded seriously at her. "I do, my lady."  
  
Sansa nodded. "You also realize, that if you travel with her, she is to be treated with respect and dignity befitting a lady of her station. If you make so much as an untoward remark towards her, she has my permission to beat you senseless, then return you here for a nice, long stay in the dungeons."  
  
Tormund blinked, looking at Sansa with something akin to respect. "I understand, my lady," he said gravely.  
  
"Good," Sansa said briskly. "Jon, your horse will be needed. I'm afraid your journey back to Daenerys will be slightly delayed. An inconvenience, but you understand."  
  
Jon glowered silently at her.   
  
Sansa stood, and Sandor rose as well.   
  
"I wish you both a safe journey. Good day," Sansa spoke, as she and Sandor left the dining hall.   
  
Once they were safely in their chamber, Sansa promptly burst into tears.   
  
Sandor looked at her in alarm. "Sansa," he said worriedly. It wasn't like her to weep like this.   
  
"I behaved childishly," she sniffled. "I let my anger control my decisions. I sent Brienne off, alone with Tormund, for gods sakes!" She dabbed her eyes on the edge of her sleeve and Sandor's felt an urge of protectiveness. He gathered her into his arms.   
  
"What if I told you that you were brilliant, as well as beautiful?" He said slowly.  
  
Sansa looked at him suspiciously. "What do you mean?"  
  
Sandor told her of the plan he and Tormund had formulated.   
  
Sansa frowned at him after he finished. "Brienne never agreed to go with Tormund alone to the wall, Sandor. You'll not convince me otherwise."  
  
"Nay, she did not. She was reluctant to cooperate with the whole plan, let alone being a travel companion. I'd wager Tormund thought that one up all on his own."  
  
Sansa sighed and shook her head. "He loves her," she said moodily. "Meanwhile, she loves another."  
  
Sandor looked at Sansa in surprise. "Brienne?" He couldn't imagine it.   
  
Sansa furrowed her brow. "Yes, Sandor. I thought it fairly obvious."  
  
Sandor stared at her blankly.   
  
Sansa shook her head. "Men," she grumbled. "You can be so stubbornly obtuse, it's maddening."  
  
Sandor might have been obtuse, but he was certain she wasn't talking about only him in that moment.  
  
"I can be easily persuaded as well," he said softly, trailing a finger into the low collar of Sansa's gown. "In fact, I would say my lady wife has me well and truly wrapped around her finger."  
  
Sansa snorted. "Hardly, my love. You're as stubborn as they come."  
  
"Aye," Sandor gave in. It wouldn't do for her to know how much hold she had over him anyway.   
  
Sansa rose and bathed her face at he basin. "I don't know what came over me," she muttered.  
  
Sandor stood behind her, massaging her shoulders and neck, as she had done for him many times.   
  
She leaned into his touch with a sigh. "Oh, that feels wonderful," she said.   
  
Sandor unlaced her gown and massaged lower, making her laugh and moan intermittently.   
  
A knock came at the door.   
  
Sandor stopped in frustration.   
  
"There are too many people residing here at Winterfell," he grumbled, helping Sansa lace her gown back. "It's becoming a bloody nuisance."  
  
Opening the door with a growl, he snapped "What?"  
  
Anyone else but Tormund would have cowered. Instead he grinned at Sandor.   
"Well, he refused the bait. No fight, it seems. But at least he will be delayed. And I will be accompanied by the most beautiful lady in all of Westeros. Excluding present company, of course," Tormund threw that comment over Sandor's shoulder, towards Sansa.   
  
"Tormund, I'm beginning to think this was all a ruse to get yourself alone with Lady Brienne," Sansa said sternly, though she bit back a smile.   
  
Tormund grinned. "In part, you'd be right, my lady."  
  
Sandor shook his head.   
  
"Jon is pissing and moaning to Tarly," Tormund continued delightedly. "He isn't fighting you on it though, my lady. That's decent enough of him."  
  
"Jon is nothing, if not decent." Sansa agreed somberly.  
  
Sandor glared at Tormund. "Don't you have a trip to prepare for?" He said pointedly.   
  
"Oh, am I interrupting something?" Tormund affected a false air of innocence.   
  
"Tormund, thank you. Now kindly fuck off," Sandor said, shutting the door in his face.  
  
"Be safe!" Sansa called before the door shut.   
  
Sandor turned to her.   
  
"Sandor that was rude," she said as he shrugged out of his tunic.   
  
Sandor groaned as he shrugged off his tunic and worked at unleashing his breeches. "Don't lecture me on manners now, Sansa."  
  
Sansa raised her eyebrows at him, crossing her arms.   
  
Sandor stopped and sighed. "Sansa, my darling. Please pardon my rudeness. I was only wishing to make haste in the act of ravishing my beautiful wife until she screams my name."  
  
Sansa shook her head, smiling as her hands went to unlace her gown.   
  
"Men," she said again, softly.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	54. Chapter 54

-Sansa-

 

Sandor didn't realize that the storm was coming, but Sansa had felt it in her bones for days. 

The stillness of the weather was the first indication. Nothing disturbed the trees, the frost had been scarce each morning, and the animals had alternated between eating all they could and staring at the sky. They too understood the ways of the North, or else they could feel it as well.

Sandor was restless. He couldn't find enough to do. Their home was repaired at the first sign of wear. His training sessions were intense and the soldiers looked exhausted by noon day. He insisted on a modest feast for Hope's first name day, a day that was rapidly approaching. Sansa had been surprised, but not opposed. Winterfell was not as prosperous as it had been before the war, but she didn't see how a small feast would hurt them. Sandor took to planning that, even carrying Hope around and asking her opinions on matters. They spent time in the kitchens, much to the delight of the cooks, tasting cakes and pasties. 

Sansa stayed busy as well. She did not run her household behind the scenes as her Lady Mother had done. She was on the grounds of Winterfell daily, flanked by a good number of guards at her husband's insistence, letting very little escape her attention. She watched the village folk, paid special attention to their petty grievances and complaints, smoothed over feuds and misunderstandings. Sansa partly did this because she needed to know these people intimately. Her trust in her fellow man had been shaken badly. In fact, she wondered if she had not grown paranoid, overly suspicious. 

Tormund had been gone a day longer than anticipated, much to Sansa's worry. She'd insisted on sending a search party out, but Sandor had not seemed concerned. He told her that sometimes journeys were delayed and there was no point in worrying herself silly over it. She'd scowled and pouted a bit, but he'd been right. A heavy snow further up North had forced the two to take shelter for a day. They'd rode in looking tired and pensive. 

Sansa had gently pressed Brienne for details of the journey, but she'd been short but courteous in her replies. Tormund seemed pensive as well, and Sansa had waited patiently for Sandor to speak to Tormund. 

Finally Sandor told her, "Sometimes, it's best not to ask, Sansa. Give him time. His home, the wall, it's all gone. Ruined. He has to tell his people this. It's not easy, the Wildlings have always had their land. Till now."

Sandor had been right about this as well. Tormund had gone to the village and spent nearly a week with his people in the holdings they'd constructed. He didn't reappear at Winterfell until days after Jon and Ser Davos had left. 

Sansa had provided every comfort she could think of for Jon's journey. Instead of wishing he stay however, she found herself eager to see him off. 

Something was different about Jon. For all intents and purposes, he was the same person. He spoke with the same Northern accent. He looked the same. But Sansa had felt a shift. As if the wind that drove him had changed, and he was no longer interested in the North. 

"Why would he be?" Greta asked her, after Sansa had voiced her concerns in the solarium one day. "He stands to gain a kingdom, after all. He is the true heir, after Daenerys, after all."

Sansa had silently thought the same, but hoped she was just being morose. 

"Yes, and if he gains a kingdom, Winterfell will be among them. You'd think he'd remember who the King of the North is, after all."

"The King of the North is no longer a concept-hear me first, Sansa-because the Queen is dead and Jon is a Targaryen. If anyone rules the North, it is you, and Sandor. Honestly, it's quite time someone said so."

Sansa shrugged daintily. "I am not going to disagree with that."

She'd felt a need to sit and stitch a while, something she did not do very often of late. Greta had joined her, stitching a small garment of her own. Sansa had given the garment and Greta a very pointed look, but Greta had just laughed. 

"It's for you. Or the new babe, rather."

Sansa smiled. "You're in good faith, Greta."

Greta smiled and shrugged. "You have to be."

 

Sansa waited to hear word from Arya, but nothing came. She worried and began to eat and sleep very little. She couldn't stop thinking about what Sandor had overheard when he had listened to Jon's conversation with Ser Davos. 

Bran could wharg into a dragon, that was what Ser Davos had suggested. Could he? Could Bran end the reign of the Night King?

However, Sansa had come to understand that Jon refused to hear this because it meant there was no hope in saving Viserion. If the Night King died, all his creations died with him. 

He was well and truly loyal to Daenerys by now. This hurt Sansa, though she had no right to feel hurt. Jon had torn loyalties and Daenerys was his true blood. 

Sansa wished her mother could have known the truth of Jon's lineage. Then perhaps Catelyn would have been able to have peace, after harboring resentment for so many years of thinking Ned had been unfaithful to her. 

Sansa thought of the way she and her mother had treated Jon growing up. Coldly, haughtily. For no good reason at all. It was no wonder he did not give Winterfell much thought. His memories here were painful, most like. Then his time at the Wall. Losing his Wildling girl, Samwell had confided in Sansa about that when she had wondered aloud if Jon would ever marry. Sansa had felt her heart break a bit at that. He'd loved and lost, held his dying love in his arms. 

He'd lost his life shortly after, then was restored by the Red Woman, a strange witch who had powers that were either a blessing or a curse. 

Sansa hoped for the thousandth time Gendry had arrived and would somehow convince Arya to come back here. Jon would not let Arya, his sister at heart, leave so easily.

Sansa sighed and put down garment, suddenly feeling very tired. She stood, stretching. 

"I'm going to rest, Greta. I will see you at dinner."

Greta smiled. "Yes, my lady. You should rest. See you later."

Sansa climbed into her bed, falling into a troubled sleep quickly. 

She dreamed of fire and blood. She could smell both, her heart pounding as she looked for a way out of the smoke. All around her, people screamed.  

She ran for the stairs and bumped into something solid. It felt like a wall. 

It was a dragon. Its eyes held her in thrall, the slow wink of yellow-green eyes that were as large as her head. It tilted its head toward her and she could scarcely breathe. Slowly it came toward her and _nudged_ her. 

Sansa woke with a gasp.

She looked around her a moment, trying to get her bearings. 

She was home. She was in Winterfell. She was in her room, the one she shared with Sandor. 

The light outside was beginning to wane. She had very little time before dinner would be served, and she hadn't even spoken to the cooks. She forced her stiff limbs to move and climbed out of bed, changing her gown and splashing cold water on her face and combing her hair. She cleaned her teeth and looked at herself in the reflection of her mirror. 

She was pale, and still looked terrified. Her eyes looked huge, with purplish smudges under them. 

Sansa sighed as she attempted to cover them with the fine white powder she'd kept in a drawer but rarely used. She pinched her cheeks to bring color into them. 

Deciding there was no help for it, she pasted a false smile on her face, the one she'd perfected in Kings Landing. 

Sansa could not get the image of the dragon out of her mind. She'd only seen the dragons Daenerys called her children from a distance. How could she have known the scales would be shiny, the eyes intelligent and fierce, the breath warm and smelling faintly of smoked meat?

Glancing down, Sansa noticed her hands were shaking. She drew in a deep breath and forced herself to leave the room. 

She was jumpy, as she trailed the cool halls thay led to the kitchen, starting at every shadow and sound. But she felt a bit better once she arrived downstairs, where there were people and activity. It had started to snow heavily and everyone was scrambling to attend to the animals and other outdoor duties before it settled upon them. 

Sandor was in the kitchen when Sansa arrived, talking to a very agitated cook. 

"Stew is not a proper dinner, my Lord. It's intended for noon meal, for the soldiers and maids. Not for the highborn!"

"Do the highborn not like stew? Imagine, they're missing some of the best fare of their lives. Nothing better on a bloody freezing night like this one." Sandor stood with his feet apart, his stance relaxed. 

The cook saw Sansa just then and relief etched across her kindly face. "My lady! I wasn't certain what you'd like for dinner. We've a bit of salted pork still, and some roast beef. I can heat it, as quick as can be."

"Stew is fine. Truly, we are not a pretentious lot. Stew does sound wonderful, actually. If there is enough to go around." Sansa responded, earning an amused look from Sandor.

"Aye, there is," the cook said dubiously, as if she was afraid Sansa and Sandor were having a jape at her expense. 

Sansa smiled reassuringly at her. 

"Perhaps with some of that wonderful bread you prepared earlier? I smelled it this morning, and I've thought of very little else ever since."

The cook grinned. "Aye my lady, that can be arranged."

Sansa took Sandor by the hand and led him out of the kitchen. 

In the hall, he touched her cheek with the back of his fingers. "I'd wager you've thought of everything but bread since this morning, little bird."

Sansa reached up, standing on her tiptoes and kissed him. 

"I feel better now," she whispered. 

 

After dinner, where the stew was heartily consumed and praised, Sansa decided to take Bran to his room herself. 

Once they'd arrived, she told Jaime, "You've earned some time off. Have some wine with Bronn before bed," and shut the door in his face. 

Bran looked at her patiently, his blank eyes giving nothing away. 

Sansa pressed her lips together. Then she said, "I need to ask you something."

Bran waited. 

"How did you manage to find a dragon, and how did you manage to find your way into my dreams?"


	55. Chapter 55

-Sandor-

Sandor awoke the day of the feast as eager as if it were his own. 

Sansa had barely begun to stir beside him when he dressed and bathed hastily in the wash basin. 

Turning toward him, Sansa opened her eyes narrowly.

"Sandor," she murmured. "What on earth could you possibly have to do this early?"

Sandor felt his gaze inevitably drawn to her beauty, illuminated by the morning sunlight. She was a bloody goddess, that's what she was.

Sometimes he would look upon her and his breath would catch, even still. He couldn't believe that such a creature could love  _him_. It made no sense, a dog like him with a treasure like Sansa. 

Sansa always told him that he was more desirable than any man she'd ever known. He thought her slightly mad, but was very glad each time she said it.

"It's Hope's name day," he told her, as if she were surprised she was not already awake as well. 

Sansa sat up with a yawn. Still half asleep, rubbing her eyes, Sandor was nevertheless taken by a strong desire to dive back into the bed and bury himself between her legs. 

She came more awake and smiled at him. "You're excited." 

Sandor tried to scowl. "There's much to be done, my lady."

Sansa's smile widened until her dimples faintly appeared. "Sandor, with your careful plans, and the ones I was permitted to add, I dare say we are  _overly_  prepared."

Sandor threw her a look, one that used to intimidate her in another place, another time. Now she acted as if it  _endeared_  him to her. 

She rose out of bed, her body bared to him. Sandor bit back a sound of desire. Striding toward her basin, Sansa threw a smile over her shoulder. 

"What shall we do first?"

Sandor wanted to tell her  _Fuck until we're both senseless_. Gods, he would never get enough of her. Was it normal for a man to desire his wife this much, even after some time had passed?

Perhaps not. But Sandor was not normal, as he'd learned long ago. 

"The cake," he responded instead. "The cooks started baking last night. We need to check the progress."

Sansa laughed. "And how many times have you checked on it since last night?"

"Three," Sandor admitted. 

Sansa chuckled and finished bathing. She drew clothing from the wardrobe and Sandor automatically went over to assist her. 

"Better than any lady's maid," she teased him, as she did often. 

"Faster, too," Sandor grumbled as he helped her dress. There. Now she couldn't distract him with her long legs and soft curves. 

Sansa sat to comb her hair while Sandor rocked impatiently on his heels. 

She gave him a look in the mirror, equally amused and annoyed. "I've never seen you like this."

"I have a surprise for Hope," he told her. "It's out in the stable. I wanted you to see it, before I presented it to her."

Sansa cocked her head sideways. Sandor knew she was wondering how something had slipped into Winterfell undetected by her. For all his 'little bird' talk, she was also a wolf, after all. 

"A horse?" she asked doubtfully.

"Not quite," he answered. 

 

 

After nearly insisting Sansa bundle up in one more layer, Sandor nearly drug her outside, eager for her reaction. He was tired of hiding his surprise. 

Opening the barn door, Sandor nodded at the stable boy who was eating porridge near a small fire grate. The stable boy smiled guiltily, and Sandor knew he'd been in the back, doing exactly what he'd been told  _not_  to do.

Sandor tugged on Sansa's hand and pulled her forward. 

"Just back here" he said softly. 

Sansa was stiff. He knew she hated the thought of kennels. Sandor had destroyed the old kennel and replaced it with a barn, big and bright, nothing like the dark dungeon that had been there before. 

At last they reached the final stall. 

"Here," Sandor said, stepping out of the way and tugging Sansa to stand before his surprise. 

Sansa stilled, staring. Then she dropped to her knees and gave a small cry of delight. 

A direwolf puppy ambled toward her, fluffy and gray, with white markings. Dried porridge flecked its snout as it whimpered and snuffled, pushing its way onto Sansa's lap. She laughed and perhaps cried a bit as she stroked its soft fur. 

Sandor glanced down toward the stable boy, who ate his porridge innocently and avoided Sandor's eye. 

Sandor shook his head, and turned his attention back to Sansa. 

"Where did you find it?" She asked. 

"It came from the woods a week ago", he replied. "The men and I searched for a wolf pack, but never found sight of one. I had it kept here and a watch kept eyes out for the return of its family, but nothing ever came. It's almost as if....it is supposed to be here."

Sansa smiled. "Its perfect," she said softly. She continued to stroke the pup's fur, and said, "I thought Ghost was the only Direwolf left."

Sandor shrugged. "It would seem that they still roam the woods, after all."

Sansa looked up at Sandor. "What should we name it. Him. Her?"

Sandor held up the pup, who nipped playfully at him. "Girl."

Sansa smiled. "Of course. I should have known. A girl would have sought help and shelter, a male would have braved the woods himself. It's not always right, but in my experience that's the way of it."

Sandor reached down to pat the pup on the head, who gave a playful growl and latched its mouth to the sleeve of Sandor's heavy coat. 

Sandor frowned. "She isn't going to be too wild for Hope?" He hoped he hadn't made a mistake. Especially since Sansa was staring all misty-eyed at the little beast, and he knew he'd never have the heart to change his mind. 

Sansa laughed as the pup barked, chasing its tail and showing off for her new audience. 

"She's a pup, Sandor. She is going to be a bit wild. But we will be here to ensure that she learns to be tame as well." Sansa smiled and gave the pup one last cuddle before placing her carefully back in her pen. "Besides, it will do Hope some good as well."

Sandor locked the gate, and the pup whimpered and howled mournfully as they walked away. They passed the Stable Boy, who was poised to rush back to the pup as soon as Sansa and Sandor left. 

Sandor looked sternly at the boy. "No more porridge. Make sure she is clean by this evening." 

The boy bowed his head. "Yes, milord," he said hurriedly, scampering back to the wailing pup. 

"No wonder the bloody thing is already spoiled," Sandor grumbled. 

 

 

The feast began late afternoon and lasted until Hope began to squirm and whine, tired from the excitement and attention. Little Sam had fallen asleep on a rug by the fire, the direwolf pup curled up, also asleep, next to him. 

Sandor hoped Sansa didn't insist on keeping the damn thing in the castle. After seeing Hope's excitement, upon being presented the pup by the reluctant stable boy, Sandor wasn't sure if he'd win that argument. 

Hope had squealed in delight when she saw the pup. 

"Da!" She shrieked, bouncing on her stool in the floor. The pup had ran to her instantly, as knowing all along it was meant to belong to Hope."

Sansa rolled her eyes playfully at Sandor. "Everything is 'Da'. Do we have a name for the pup, after all?"

Sandor scoffed, but was secretly elated that Hope favored him. Knowing the little he did about children, he knew that could change at any time, and he basked in her adoration while he could. Gods knew he'd had little enough of being favored by children. Usually he frightened them to tears. 

"She just knows who found the pup is all. Clever girl. Like her mother."

Sansa kissed his scarred cheek affectionately. "Clever like Da," she murmured. 

 

After the children were to bed, and the pup was taken back to its pen, where an elated stable boy climbed in with two blankets for her ( _Spoiled_ , Sandor grumbled again.), the servants gathered up the remains of the feast to be distributed among themselves and the villagers of Winterfell, at Sansa's insistence.

Sandor hurried toward the Wildings group of huts. He'd deliberately saved Tormund for last, because he's not seen much of him of late. 

Sandor approached the camp, as it was. Tormund arrived outside to greet him. 

"Food, from the feast." Sandor said, thrusting the huge bundle at him. Two baskets as well. Perhaps Sansa had been right. They'd been overly prepared. 

Tormund took it, looking bewildered. "Was that today?"

Sandor stared at him. "Aye. You know it was."

Tormund shook his head and pulled out a small cloth wrapped object from his pocket. 

"For your child," he said. 

Sandor looked. It was a necklace, made with some sort of stone, black and smooth, some he had not seen before."

"Northern stone, unbreakable. Not as fancy as the jewels you civilized folk favor, but we like it."

"I think she is a bit young for it yet, but I'm certain she will appreciate it when she is older."

Sandor pocketed it. "When are you coming back to the castle? Sansa won't stop asking me if you're truly well or if I'm making things up to mollify her. She's worried about you. I've got to tell her something."

Tormund gave a weak smile, looking at the ground a moment. He raised his head up and looked Sandor in the eyes. "My people need me. I need to be here for them. I'll return to the castle when the threat has passed."

"Threat?" Sandor asked. "What bloody threat?"

"My people have nothing left. Nothing! We can rebuild, but I'll not ask them to yet. Not yet....not when it could happen again."

Sandor sighed. "I'll tell Sansa you're staying here with your people for the time being. Otherwise, come back when you're done feeling sorry for yourself. I don't know what you saw, or why Brienne has been skulking around the castle since your return. But crawling away to hide, that's not helping anything."

Tormund looked at him with interest. "Brienne has been skulking?"

Sandor glared at him. "Come to the castle, see for yourself, Wildling."

Tormund smiled. "We shall see, _my lord_."

"Good night," Sandor told him in a pointed tone. 

It was quite dark when Sandor arrived back to the castle.

He went upstairs to find Sansa asleep, still fully dressed. Her mouth hung open and she snored slightly. Sandor suppressed a chuckle as he undressed and climbed into bed next to her.

The shift awoke her. "Sandor. How long was I sleeping?"

Sandor nuzzled her. "Not long, sweet."

Sansa sighed. "I'm just so tired lately. It must be the poison leaving me, as Samwell said."

Sandor hesitated. "Perhaps."

Sansa curled into him. "I'm too tired to undress. You're quite hospitable, Sandor. Who knew?"

Sandor kissed her, carefully unlacing her stays. "You'll not sleep well all covered in cloth. Let me help you."

Sansa leaned in appreciatively. "Thank you."

After she was undressed, and noted he was as well, things progressed in the natural state that Sandor had come to cherish. Their coupling was slow and sweet, and brief. Sansa immediately began to drowse afterwards, leaving to stare at her in the firelight. 

"You're beautiful," he murmured, kissing her atop her fiery hair. "Radiant."

Sansa's eyes popped open at that. 

"What did you say?"

Sandor felt uncomfortable. "Beautiful."

Sansa shook her head. "After that."

"Nice to know that my little bird takes my compliments to heart," Sandor told her dryly. "Radiant. I said you were radiant".

Sansa looked at him seriously. 

"You've only told me that once before. When I was carrying Hope. I cried about how big I had gotten and you told me to hush, that I was radiant."

Sandor quirked an eyebrow. "Perhaps you do remember every compliment you're given."

Sansa sat up. "I'm so tired....it makes sense."

Turning to Sandor excitedly, she said "Perhaps....perhaps I am with child."

Sandor started. "So soon?"

Sansa looked down at him pointedly. "You're quite virile, Sandor. And Sam said himself, he sae no reason why not, as I am still young and healthy."

Sandor felt joy enter his blood, giving him the same feeling as the sour wine he used to favor. Still, he remained cautious. "If it's true, you should rest. Not just tonight. Perhaps more often during the day."

Sansa smiled at him. "Don't be worried, love. I'll be careful."

Sandor knew he looked anxious, but nodded. 

Sansa patted his cheek. "I know what is at stake, and I want more children as much as you do. I will be careful, Sandor. I swear it."

Sandor kissed her cheek. "Sleep, my love."

Sansa did fall asleep, leaving Sandor to wonder if Arya was in the same way, and what they were to do about Bran. He realized he was thinking like a Lord. A good one. One who was concerned for his people. 

He felt a bit guilty, but the relief he had that Sansa now might have a greater chance to survive was at the forefront of his thoughts, and he was relieved in spite of everyone else's predicaments. 

"There you are, dog," he muttered wryly to himself. 

"What?" Sansa murmured sleepily.

"Nothing," he answered, kissing her. "Go to sleep, little bird."

And they both did.


	56. Chapter 56

-Sansa-

 

Sansa was dreaming of fire, of it burning all around her but never touching her.

She could feel the heat, could smell smoke, until the thickness of it clouded all about her, threatening to choke her. She covered her nose and mouth with her arm, eyes streaming, as she walked closer to the source of the burning. She fell upon her knees, crawling, the air not so thick on the ground.

Soon she came to where the fire burned, she reached her hand out to clear the air before her.

  
A shift in the smoke. Something was emerging.

  
Sansa waited patiently as she could, coughing as she rose to her feet.

  
A loud screech filled the air. It vibrated through her, rattling her bones. It came again, then again. Instead of filling her with fear, she could feel the exhilaration, the joy in that screech.

Vengeance, a war cry of victory and freedom.

  
She looked up but saw nothing through the thickness of the smoke. She walked as close as she dared to the fire.

  
The ground felt different here. Smooth.

Looking down, she was surprised to see snow, still intact, laying in a perfect crystal blanket at her feet.

She touched it with her booted foot, her foot leaving no print.

Sansa collapsed and buried her face in it, gasping in a strangled breath of the freshness that met her down there.

  
Suddenly the ground shook. Sansa leapt to her feet, the smoke clawing at her once again.

  
The ground rose below her, shivering in the grumbling motion of earth shifting.   
Sansa watched as it began to sift aw

ay and until an empty black void was left.   
She was alone. No fire, no smoke. No snow.   
Sansa looked all around her. Blackness was all around her, all she could see.

  
It was terrifying.

  
"That's what they're afraid of, you know."

  
A voice, all at once. It sounded very far away, yet she could hear it as clearly as anything she'd ever heard in her life.

  
"What? What is it they're afraid of?"

Sansa felt, rather than heard the waver in her voice.

  
"That this is all there is. That this is all that's left. They have grown so used to the lust of power, of battle. They forget how to breathe life into something, how to accept peace."

  
Sansa still squinted in the imaginary smoke, as she stared into the void.

"Who are 'they'?" she demanded.

  
Nothing.

  
"Hello?" Sansa called. "Please, who are 'they'?"

  
Silence met her.

  
Sansa spun around until she grew dizzy, though nothing shook in her gaze.

She dropped to her knees, not knowing what she stood upon. Her heart hammered as she clamored to her feet, wishing to free herself of this darkness. She ran until she was gasping, but the night stretched on, an endless blackness that she couldn't escape.   
Panic swamped her. She forced herself, measure by measure, to slow her breathing.

  
Sansa sat down, hard. What was going to happen to her?

  
"You're giving up." The voice came again, not accusing, or questioning. A simple statement.

  
"I don't know what to do," Sansa replied, her voice hollow. "I don't know how to get out of this place."

  
"You do," the voice answered calmly. "You just have to wake up."

  
Wake up.

  
 _Wake up_.

  
"Sansa, wake up!"

  
Sansa opened her eyes, blessed light flooding her vision. Sandor was over her, concern in his eyes.

  
"Sansa," he mumured in relief, in his scratchy voice. It was like beautiful music to Sansa's ears.

  
"Sandor," she said, her voice a bit breathless. "Is everything all right?"

  
He sat back, frowning. "I'd ask the same of you. You were thrashing and moaning. The maid sent for me, blubbering about curses and devils. I'm thinking she'd be better suited elsewhere if she's truly that foolish."

  
Sansa tried for a weak smile. "She isn't one with a strong constitution, but she is quite adept in her other duties."

  
"If you say so," Sandor answered, still frowning. "Are you certain you're all right?"

  
"I was dreaming," Sansa replied, keeping her voice calm. "Dreams while I'm with child, they can be very odd at times," she gave a weak chuckle and sat up.

  
Sandor did not look entirely satisfied, but blessedly, he said nothing else on the matter.

  
"Would you like a tray sent up for dinner, my lady?" The maid had returned, seemingly satisfied by Sansa's return to normal behavior.

  
"Not tonight. I believe I'll dine in the hall." Sansa stood, determined to stop hiding in her room and shirking her duties.

She'd taken far too many trays upstairs in her room lately. And while she trusted those she had ensconced in Winterfell, Sansa knew that all it took was one wayward thought spoken aloud, one remark, and gossip would spread like wildfire. Soon the talk would be of Sansa, the reclusive Lady of Winterfell, who wouldn't even come out of her room for meals.

  
Sandor shook his head. "Dinner was served an hour ago".

  
"Why was I not informed?" Sansa looked at her maid icily.

  
"I beg pardon, my lady. It's only, Greta said you weren't to be disturbed. She said you wished to rest, and I was not to wake you unless there was a true need for it."

  
Sansa stared at the maid, her thoughts confused and tangled. "Greta? I've not...." Sansa stilled her tongue. "Of course, I'd forgotten. I thank you. You may go."

  
The maid scurried away.

  
Sansa waited a moment, before she murmured to herself, "I have not spoken to Greta at all today."

 

 

Sandor had gone to settle the castle for the evening.

Sansa had gone to look on Hope, feeling guilty about missing the afternoon and evening with her. The nursemaid assured her that all was well with the child.

  
"You're entitled to a rest, my lady. Hope had a lovely afternoon. Her father took her to play with her pup, which delighted her."

  
Sansa smiled tenatively. "She adores the pup." She hadn't yet told the nurse it was a direwolf.

  
The nursemaid nodded in agreement. "Pets can be wonderful for children."

 

Sansa had not been hungry, but Sandor had told her in no uncertain terms that she was going to eat something. She scowled at his high-handedness, but also acknowledged the sense in keeping her strength up for the babe.

  
Sandor brought her soup and a slice of bread. "Your favorite. Stew." He gestured to the meal grandly.

  
Sansa laughed as she took a spoonful, finding that she was hungry after all. "You find it offensive that I serve stew to our guests."

  
Sandor gave a slight smile. "My lady wife, enjoying stew like a commoner. I'll admit, perhaps it does something for me."

  
"Does it?" she replied with a smirk. "What if I also told you I'd once lived like a beggar in the woods with a handsome knight?"

  
"I'd be inclined to beat this bloody knight to a pulp," Sandor said without missing a beat. "Surely he didn't take advantage of you, my lady."

  
"Oh, no" Sansa returned. "It was I who took advantage of him."

  
Sandor laughed, a real, heartfelt laugh. Sansa felt some warmth return to her a bit at the rare sound.

  
Sansa finished her meal and wiped her mouth daintily. "I'll see about clearing this," she said.

  
Sandor shook his head. "Forget the bloody tray. Come here."

  
Sansa suppressed a giggle. "Does my husband want the lady, or the beggar girl from the woods?" she asked playfully.

  
Sandor smiled at her in a way that made her blush. "Just you, little bird. I just want you."  
Sansa melted.

  
"For a brute, you're quite romantic." She told him, leaning into his embrace.

  
Sandor's lips found hers, and they were through with talking for a while.

 


	57. Chapter 57

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a whirlwind of a summer and have not been able to post as often as I would like. I apologize for that.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and this story this far!
> 
> This chapter is short, but pivotal towards the ending, which I promise we are steadily arriving upon!

-Sandor-   
  
Samwell found him early that morning.  
  
"It's happened." he told Sandor breathlessly.   
  
"What has?" Sandor asked distractedly. He was already mentally preparing himself for the day ahead.  
  
"She's in Kings Landing. She's there to take the throne".   
  
Sandor blinked, then stopped his stride. "The dragon queen? So soon?"  
  
"Yes, she is there now. As we speak. I got the raven from Jon only just now. So they've likely been there since...yesterday, perhaps," Samwell was positively beaming.  
  
Sandor thought a moment. "And what is the state of Kings Landing, as we speak?"  
  
Samwell started to speak, then paused.  
  
Finally he said, "I gather that it's...not good".   
  
"Still a mess of rubble and ashes? Too bad it can't stay that way," Sandor remarked as they walked.   
  
"Yes, in a manner of speaking. However, that's likely to be the least of her problems," Samwell hedged.   
  
"Meaning?"  
  
"Meaning, Euron Greyjoy is also there. Still set on taking the throne. His sweet words didn't hold much for Daenerys. So now he is changing tactics. He must have returned when he realized he could slip in, like a thief."  
  
"Of course", Sandor said dryly. "Fucking Greyjoys. Mad, salt-crusted cunts."  
  
"No insult to you", he added with a cast in Daniel's direction, who stood ever present by Sandor's side.   
  
Daniel simply shrugged in a noncommittal manner, as was his way.   
  
"So, a battle once more," Sandor mused aloud. "I suppose I'm to round up what little soldiers we have left in the North and join her," Sandor couldn't hide the disgust creeping into his tone.   
  
"No, actually. She wants you here. She wants all of the North to stay where they are, she says," Samwell answered.  
  
"She does, does she? We're not needed for the grand victory? Well, that suits me fine. I can stay put for a change".   
  
"Be that as it may, there is trouble that she foresees. One more reason she needs the North, where they are, and not because she wants you to stay away."  
  
"You'll have to explain it to me, boy."  
  
"The Night King. He is moving North, past the walls in Kings Landing."  
  
Sandor stopped. "Truly?"  
  
"Yes," said Sam. "Perhaps...she expects him to return here."  
  
Sandor mused on that thought a moment. "Meet me in the hall, with everyone who needs to know of this, in one hour's time."  
  
Samwell nodded and hurried away.   
  
"Seems you have to kill some men twice," Sandor commented to Daniel as they continued toward the yard, where they'd originally been headed.   
  
"Some men don't go quietly into the night," Daniel offered.   
  
  
Exactly one hour later, Sandor and Daniel arrived in the great hall where they were met by those who Sansa had taken to calling their "advisors". In a way, she was correct. The men, and women, who sat, waiting, had been just that during these last long, difficult months.  
Sam nodded as Sandor came to the head of the table.   
  
What a court they were, Sandor thought wryly.   
Tormund, Beric, Jaime, Bronn, Brienne. Positioned around one side of the room, tensed and ready for battle, for anything.   
Samwell, Gilley, Greta, who was joined by Daniel, they sat opposite. Waiting, expectant, the intelligence burning bright behind their eyes.   
And most importantly, Sansa, who sat regally by his side, like the true lady she was. She gave him a nod, a slight smile, as he took his place.   
  
Sandor frowned and looked at his hands for just a moment. He still wasn't good with this, addressing others in an authoritative manner, outside the battlefield. Probably never would be.   
He dropped his hands in his lap. Sansa brushed her leg discreetly against his, twice, very gently.   
  
Finally facing the ones gathered before him, Sandor spoke.

"We've received a raven from Jon. Queen Daenerys has arrived in Kings Landing. She intends to take the Iron Throne, but two things stand in her way. First, Euron Greyjoy has made himself at home in Kings Landing, while it lay in ruin and disrepair. So she has that to contend with. The second trouble, well, it could affect us all. The Night King was recognized in Kings Landing. Her army claims he was headed back North. Only just now, before I came to meet with all of you, I have received another raven. It states that the Night King has doubled back to Kings Landing. Also, Euron Greyjoy is dead. Killed in battle yesterday, I assume."  
  
Sandor gave some time for it to sink in.   
  
"Now, we have another bit of a problem. For starters, I have my doubts that Daenerys arrived in Kings Landing so soon. Not with the group traveling with her, an army of that size would no doubt cause delays across the sea. Undoubtedly, Jon's letter this morning was a forgery, intended to drive us away from Kings Landing. Who would do such a thing?" Sandor glanced around the room, where several sets of surprised eyes looked back.   
  
"This is the bit where you advise me," Sandor said with a shrug and sat back down in his chair.   
  
  
  
  


 


	58. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize it's been quite a while since I've posted. I'm so sorry for the delay.  
> This will be the first installment of a Sansa chapter. This is part one, next will be part 2, both from Sansa's point of view. The timeline takes place over the span of a few days. I just wanted to explain, in case I buggered up and confused you, lovely readers!  
> Thank you so very much for your patience and for reading this story. As always, I am grateful for each one of you, and am always open to hear your thoughts.

-Sansa-

  
  
"This is a horrible idea!" Brienne shouted frantically toward Sansa and Bran.  
  
Sansa had requested for Brienne to remain away from her, for Brienne's safety.  
The Warrior Maiden of Tarth hadn't taken too kindly to this, but begrudgingly accepted Sansa's wishes.  
  
"It isn't too late, my lady. We have other options, other ways we can act. _There is still time!_ "  
  
Brienne paced at the edge of the godswoods, never removing her watchful gaze, while Sansa stood beside Bran, her hand bravely perched upon his shoulder.  
  
Snow swirled heavily around them. She could barely make out Brienne's blue eyes in the waning daylight.  
  
"There isn't, I'm afraid." Sansa hoped her voice sounded easy, confident. She smiled for emphasis, but felt her teeth begin to chatter, from cold and nerves. She clenched her jaw determinedly and averted her gaze.

Onto Sandor.  
  
He'd remained mostly silent while she had put her plan into place.

She'd expected more resistance from him when she had first mentioned it, was puzzled when he offered only a question.  
  
"Are you sure, Sansa?"  
  
He'd spoken so calmly, Sansa was almost certain she'd misheard him. Blinking in surprise, she said, too quickly, "Of course I am, Sandor."  
  
He inhaled slightly, seeming to weigh his words. Then he said, "Think first. Is this the only way? Truly? I have faith in your decision, but only if you are unbendingly certain of what you have decided upon. I'm not asking if you have an infallible plan, there's no such thing. I'm asking if you've got faith in your decision as well, not misplaced honor or duty. You're certain this is the only way."  
  
Sansa paused, giving him the thought he had asked for, though she knew there was no point. She'd been unable to come up with a viable alternative. Still, she closed her eyes and waited for a brief moment, to see if a burst of some sort of revelation flashed before her, a safe way out.  
  
There was none. Just a sureness, a heart-wrenching acceptance, quickly replaced by an odd calm. She was making the right choice, she knew.  
  
"I'm sure," Sansa heard her own voice say it, as she opened her eyes.  
  
Sandor studied her calmly a moment. Then nodded, apparently reassured. She almost missed the troubled look in his eyes as he pulled her close. 

  
  
  
  
  
Now Sandor studied her once more, and she felt him probing, silently questioning her innermost thoughts as he held her gaze. Seemingly satisfied at what he saw, he nodded. Sansa knew he wasn't happy, and she knew he could have stopped this as any time. But he hadn't. She loved him for that, even as part of her wished he would call it all to a halt, drag her inside, hide her away from all this.

 _Now is not the time to be foolish_ , Sansa chided herself. She stiffened her spine, her resolve.   
  
"I will see you soon," Sansa told both her protectors determinedly.  
  
Slowly and reluctantly, Brienne trudged away.

Sandor did not follow. He watched the pair a moment longer, his eyes glinting like a dagger.  
  
Finally, he too turned and was away.  
  
Sansa was almost relieved, biting her lips to keep her face blank. She'd been too close to running toward him, burying herself in his embrace.  
  
Sansa took in a breath of the cold air, and Bran looked up at her.  
  
"Are you ready?" Bran looked at her with an utterly peaceful expression, no sign of anxiety in his features.  
  
Sansa nodded, before she could give it another thought.  
  
"I'm ready."

 

 

- _ **Two days prior**_ -  
  
  
Greta smiled as she observed Sansa at breakfast.  
  
"The rose is back in your cheeks, my lady. And I've noticed that your appetite has improved. This is good. You realize it's often thus when a woman is carrying a boy?" Greta's tone was conversational, kindly.  
  
Sansa was not fooled. She could thank her years in the king's court for that.  
  
Sansa painted a smile on her face, the same way she had painted on the rosy salve to improve her complexion that morning. She ate another mouthful of food, fighting with every breath to keep it in her stomach.  
  
"Thank you, Greta. Perhaps the concern you placed on my rest has done me some good, after all." Sansa replied with utterly false sweetness.  
  
Greta's smiled flickered only briefly, then locked back into place. "I only wish the best for you, my lady. You've been through so much."  
  
"As I appreciate your concern. I think I will remain in keeping to your advice. Perhaps I will lie down briefly after our meal?" Sansa knew she was often perceived as naive, despite her experience. Often this was the opinion of a highborn woman. Perhaps she could use that opinion to her advantage.  
  
Greta nodded her dark head emphatically. "Yes, my lady. Rest would be ideal."  
  
Sansa smiled and turned to Gilley. "Perhaps you and little Sam could visit my chambers today. I so look forward to seeing the children play together, and I'd hate to leave the task to you alone."  
  
Gilley, who was brighter than anyone gave her credit for, gave only the briefest blink of surprise and smoothly replied "Of course, my lady," in an agreeable tone.  
  
Greta's mouth tightened. As Sansa pretended to be interested in her porridge, she saw Greta slide Gilley a sharp look. Either Gilley didn't notice, or she pretended not to. She'd begun speaking to baby Sam about the importance of using untensils while dining.  
  
Sansa had posted guards and given strict instructions that she and Gilley were to not be disturbed. Then she paced her bedchamber restlessly until Gilley arrived with baby Sam later that morning.  
  
"Gilley," Sansa smiled warmly as she ushered the young mother and son into her rooms. Shutting the door, she quickly returned to Gilley's side and said, "Hope is in the nursery with her nurse. Would it be all right with you if Sam joined her there? There is something that I wish to discuss with you. I promise, it won't take long."  
  
Gilley nodded, hesitantly. "Yes, my lady," she said.  
  
After the children were occupied with the nurse, and Sansa and Gilley were finally alone, Sansa couldn't hold back any longer. She came out with it. "Is there something I should know, Gilley?"  
  
Gilley did not play her false or deflect the question. She simply answered, "You don't trust Greta. I can't blame you. She has always been quite honest. But lately....I am not sure what she is doing. She receives correspondence, but nobody knows from whom. Daniel even seems a bit on edge with her. I don't know, my lady. She is not herself."  
  
Sansa sat thoughtfully a moment, measuring her words. Finally, she said, "I believe Greta is corresponding with the Greyjoys."  
  
Gilley looked surprised. "Truly? I thought she hated them. Well, except for Daniel of course. But he's only partly a Greyjoy. He's his own man."  
  
"Perhaps she does hate them," Sansa said reasonably. "But then, perhaps not. Perhaps she has found a way to...gain favor."  
  
"You don't believe Euron is dead," Gilley said sagely. "I don't, either, not really. Were he dead, Jon would have sent word. Theon and his sister would be in control of the fleets, once again. There has been no news from the Iron Islands in quite some time."  
  
Sansa sighed. "I suspect, yes. I also suspect that Greta has grown ambitious. For herself and her future husband. She is clever, no doubt, but....I fear she doesn't understand how the game is truly played. How it twists you and turns you against everyone who stands in your way. There are no true allies, no friends."  
  
"I don't understand why someone would want that sort of trouble. Always watching your back, sleeping with one eye open." Gilley shrugged. "Power, but not happiness."  
  
Sansa smiled sadly. "Many have died for that power. Many still might. That's another reason I needed to speak with you."  
  
Sansa indicated for them to both sit at the table near the window.  
  
"We've been here all this time, waiting for something to happen. We've been waiting for trouble to come to us. We've spent time in preparation for attacks, but we've forgotten one thing."  
  
"What's that, my lady?" Gilley asked, after Sansa paused.  
  
"We do not have to sit like game and wait for the hunter to find us. We can find, and destroy, the trouble that seeks us instead."  
  
Gilley looked at Sansa apprehensively. "I'm afraid I don't understand, my lady. You wish to plan an attack?"  
  
"Of sorts," Sansa replied.  
  
Gilley listened to Sansa as she explained her strategy. She stayed completely still and silent.  
  
"What say you?" Sansa asked, after she had given Gilley a pause to think.  
  
The corners of Gilley's mouth quirked up in a smile. "I say you're quite mad. And your madness might be just what is needed to save us all."  
  
  
  
  
Sandor knew something was brewing in Sansa's thoughts. He would give her sidelong looks when he thought she wasn't paying attention. More than once he started to question her, then seemed to change his mind, asking about more mundane matters instead.  
  
Sansa knew it wasn't fair for her to hide things from him. They'd learned long ago that being honest with one another was important to the both of them. However, Sandor was quite unlikely to agree to anything directly involving action on Sansa's part, and she would need help in swaying his thinking. His panic over her safety would have to be calmed, somehow. He had to be able to see the perfect simplicity, the clear path.  
  
Sansa had always been told she was a silly little girl. When she was younger, it was implied that she was to be measured only by her manners, her family name, and her prettiness. She wondered, once, briefly, what she would have done had she been less pretty. Then after a time of seeing what being a lady entailed, she no longer cared about things like being pretty. She wanted to be strong, fierce, beautiful. Not like a princess, or a queen. Like a wolf.

  
  
  
"That is what I've been trying to tell you," Bran said patiently, his eyes dark and untroubled. 

Sansa had waited until she'd thought, given it some time. Finally she had no choice but to go to Bran. He was not surprised to see her, nor was he inclined to talk her out of her ideas.

  
Sansa shook her head. "You've been taking me through darkness, and terrible things. You never....I never saw a wolf."

Bran shook his head. "You still don't see... Sansa. You _are_ the wolf. _We are_ the wolves. The wild wolf children. Have they not tried to kill each one of us, have they not tried to tame us? Bring us to heel? We are the descendants of the First Man. We are the remaining pack. Stronger together. We need Arya. _You_ will need her the further we go."

Sansa bristled slightly as this, even as her confusion stirred something cold and uneasy in her. "What does that mean?"

"It means," Bran said, "that there is a chance you will have to go on without me. Once we arrive at a certain point, I may have to leave you. And if that happens, I want you to remember us having this conversation. I want you to remember that I told you to keep going, stay with Arya, and don't try to save me. Because if you do, all is lost. I have a purpose to fullfill same as you."

"And if I say no, that I won't leave you?" Sansa asked, fighting to keep the tears out of her voice. 

Bran gave a small smile. "I'll have to do it anyway. With or without you."

Sansa nodded. "All right," she agreed. She had no other choice. 

Sansa lingered in Bran's room, the two of them talking quietly. Bits about memories, bits about present day life, and to Sansa's surprise, Bran asked her to return Jaime to him during the daytime again. 

Sansa cocked her head to the side. "Jaime? You want him to attend you?" She'd been slightly ashamed of herself when she'd assigned Jaime to Bran before. She'd acted spitefully, thinking to teach Jaime Lannister a lesson about humility, while not considering the horror Bran might have felt about Jaime being in his presence every day.

Thinking about the way he'd been floating about Winterfell, ghost-like, after Cersei's death, Sansa wondered if that was the humility she'd intended. 

"I will not feel sorry for Jaime Lannister," she said aloud. 

"Nor will I," said Bran easily. "He doesn't need our pity. But I do need to ask him some questions. The sooner the better. We haven't much time."

"Why don't we have much time?" Sansa asked. 

"Euron has taken to the sea. This time, he is not acting in his own interest. His ambitions have shifted."

Sansa frowned, waiting for Bran to say more.

He didn't. Instead he told her, "I'm afraid I'm rather tired, Sansa. Please consider what I said about Jaime returning. It's very important."

Sansa swallowed her frustration and stood, wishing her brother good night. 

After having Bran's message delivered to Jaime, while making sure he was to understand that it was not a request but an order from her, Sansa drifted toward her room. She looked at Hope's door and wanted to weep. She let herself into her and Sandor's chamber, finding Sandor waiting for her. 

They looked at each other uncertainly. Sandor looked as miserable as she felt. 

"Euron Greyjoy," Sandor began, rubbing his jaw in frustration. 

Sansa nodded. "I heard, from Bran." 

"I'll have to go," Sandor said, as if he were convincing himself as much as her.

They stood in silence for a long time.

Wordlessly, Sandor opened his arms. Sansa flew into them. He held her, his arms as strong and secure as anything she'd ever felt. She burrowed into his embrace, her hands stroking him everywhere she could reach. 

Sandor carried her to the bed and they lay wrapped up in each other. Light kisses peppered her hair and forehead. Sansa sighed as she listened to Sandor's heart beat, steadily and strong. 

"What if I told you," Sansa began, "that you wouldn't need to go. If I could do something to prevent you from having to go."

Sandor drew back to look at her. "Little bird....what do you mean?" His voice was gruff, as it was when he was angry, or frightened, or in the throes of desire. 

It was then that Sansa told him her plan. 


	59. Chapter 59

-Sansa, part two-

 

The snow was coming down thick and fast. It was so cold, Sansa could scarcely feel any part of herself. She squinted against the cold flakes, the darkness that was now upon them.

"Do you remember," she asked Bran loudly, "what Father used to say? He always said the worst winter storm meant that soon spring would be upon us? That the coldest snow would melt into beautiful days? Although, it seems unlikely, since winter has been so short for the North, but some nice sunny weather certainly wouldn't be unwelcome-"

"Sansa," Bran spoke over her and the roar of the wind, shutting her up abruptly. "Calm yourself."

Sansa drew in a breath, tried to cease her nervous babbling.

Bran gave her a bit of a smile.

"It was Mother, who said that. Not Father,"  he gently corrected her.

Sansa blinked.

She'd always thought she'd remember everything from childhood, would be the one to remember the stories correctly, laughingly correcting her siblings as they grew into old age and chattered of their days gone past. Now it seemed that she was not exempt from forgetting as well. The thought sobered her and she felt the press of time weigh upon her heavily. 

"It was Father who said that?" Sansa asked in a small voice.

"Yes," Bran called, squinting up at her as the snow roared between them. He looked so much like a boy still, despite the passage of years. Despite being older, as they all were. Older beyond their years.

Sansa impulsively stooped to kiss her brother's cheek.

Bran looked at her with an amused sort of expression, but didn't grimace or wipe her kiss away as he would have done years ago.

"We must begin," he told her.

"Sansa squared her shoulders and put on her most eager face. Though Bran had told her it wasn't necessary, Sansa wrapped her cloak securely around her, all the same.

Bran and his serene, calm expression. How did he manage? Sansa shivered as she pulled her warm cloak tighter around her person. She felt like a bundle of nerves, raw and exposed.

"Take my hands," Bran commanded. Sansa grasped his hands, nearly gasping aloud at the iciness of them. He didn't even seem to notice the slightly warmer temparature of her flesh on his.

"Slowly, calm your breathing," Bran told her.

Sansa tried, in spite of her racing heart. She practiced the calm demeanor, the coolness she'd kept in Kings Landing.

"Close your eyes," Bran said, his voice quite low now. Sansa hestitantly allowed her eyelids to flutter closed. She remembered the ocassions when she would close her eyes, steel herself, wait for Ramsay to finish his "duties", sick and depraved as they were.

She felt herself tense, in spite of her best efforts.

"Remember to breathe," Bran said. "I'm right here with you."

Sansa exhaled shakily.

Suddenly a jolt of some nameless feeling rushed through her.

She opened her eyes, but the sight that greeted her was pitch black, raven black, not a shred of light to be seen.

"Bran," she mumbled, her voice strangely low and hoarse.

Suddenly, a mist greeted her eyes.

Then, clouds as light as the finest silk, lingering in the pale blue-gray of dawn's first light.

Sansa felt the clouds slip over her, a chill that didn't quite reach her bones.

She wasn't moving, but everything else was.

Past the clouds, the sea rocked below. Several ships creaked into view, a silent fleet. Sansa started when she saw the pale hair of Daenerys Targaryen.

Sansa searched for Jon and Arya, or perhaps Gendry or Pod. She saw nothing quite familiar, and simply observed the scene in front of her for a moment.

Afraid of breaking the spell, Sansa said nothing, simply blinking at the sights. She could smell the sea. But no cries of seagulls, nothing else. She thought that odd.

Yelling snapped her out of her musings. The ship towards the rear of the group was shouting and scurrying about, causing the men in the fleets ahead to look back in horror.

A ship, black and decrepit, was in close pursuit. The man at the helm was standing with eerie stillness, skin and bones, flanked by a man so pale he was nearly colorless.

Sansa drew closer, momentarily shaken as she had not realized that she had moved at all. One moment she was watching above, the next she was upon the rogue ship, directly upon the deck.

Biting back a gasp, she looked upon the crew. Dead men. All of them. A man that was only recently killed stood beside the Night King.

Sansa stared in horror as the silent man fixed his cold eyes upon the ships ahead. Then, suddenly, his head jerked, as an animal who scents an intruder would do. He turned to look her way and Sansa slid out of view, below the deck, pressing herself against the side of ship. Slow, deliberate foot steps came her way. Sansa did not dare risk moving, simply squeezed her eyes closed and held her breath.

The footsteps stopped right above her head. Feeling light headed, Sansa held herself motionless.

A loud screeching noise came from ahead, screaming its way closer. A booming noise collapsed upon the ship, rocking it violently.

The footsteps hastily retreated away and Sansa took that opportunity to run.

She barely looked back, feeling rather than seeing the fire that ripped through the ship. She ran until the stern of the boat prevented her from going forward.

Whirling around, Sansa saw that she was being silently pursued by several men who were not alive, yet still standing before her.

The spirit of something primal ran through her blood. She bared her teeth in rage, as a low growl of warning came from her. Her spine shivered and steeled itself in preparation.

The men before stopped short, their jerky movements held in suspension as she gave another deeply grating growl. A threat, not a warning this time. She knew, by an instinct that she could not control, that she would assuredly harm those that dared to come closer.

The wetness of saliva ran down her face in anticipation, but she felt no shame. She had no feeling for courtesies here.

Suddenly, a man, only recently dead, strode slowly into view. He eyed her carefully, his movements deliberate and measured. His unnaturally blue eyes locked onto hers and Sansa realised in horror that it was Euron Greyjoy.

He stopped about half a yard before her, tilting his head to one side. A pale, worn hand reached for his waist, where his sword and some kind of spear were attached to his tattered clothes.

Sansa lowered her shoulders, peering up at him, waiting for his attack.

Euron dropped his hand, taking careful steps closer toward her.

Sansa backed up a bit, pressed into the corner of the stern. She tensed, her teeth fully exposed.

Euron stopped, and smiled, a cold, chilling smile.

Without warning he reach for the spear, launching it forward, and it hissed through the air directly toward her.

Sansa barely dodged it, feeling a sharp pain burst over her left shoulder that caused her to let out a broken yelp.

Sailing on her momentum, Sansa flung herself upon Euron, her teething sinking into his throat.

He made no sound, but fell upon the floor, his hand reaching for his sword.

Sansa ripped with precision at what was left of Euron's throat, and his head was severed from his body.

Despite this, his arm still went for his sword, his limbs moving by some sort of unnatural provocation, and Sansa found herself severing the man's arm as well.

Panting, she backed away, waiting to feel horrified at what she had done.

The horror didn't come.

Sansa circled the remaining creatures, teeth bared once again, snapping. Fire threatened to consume the ship. Sansa watched as the flames drew closer, the smoke thick and black.

She had to get off the ship, but how?

Taking a chance, Sansa dodged the staggering men before her and ran down, the galley coming into view, seemingly untouched by the fire. She looked about, seeing nothing but rats scrambling to safety.

She followed them instinctively, watching as the went further and further into the remotest corner of the ship. They formed a wriggling mass, squealing and fighting to scratch through the walls.

Unwilling to trap herself below to die with the rodents, Sansa turned and ran back towards the upper deck.

Perhaps she could jump.

If the fall didn't kill her, perhaps someone from the other ships would recognise her, or at least realize that she wasn't a threat, and rescue her from the sea.

Sansa felt her heart sink as she turned a corner and saw the clouds of smoke billow into the galley. She was too late!

No, she thought fiercely, as she held her breath and closed her eyes against the stinging, sooty air. I will not be trapped. I will not lie down and die!

Sansa gave a roar as she flung herself through the door and raced toward the edge of the ship, tumbling inelegantly over the railing.

As she fell, she tried to brace herself for the impact of the fall, but could only feel the suspension of terror as it rendered her immobile.

Somehow she landed feet first, the icy water dragging her below its surface. She did not fight as it drug her deeply below, only waited until she felt the break, the impact receding, and kicked her way to the top.

She swam and swam, her lungs screaming for air, and felt herself growing weak as she waited for the sliver of light that meant she was nearing the surface. She opened her mouth, water filling her lungs. She was not going to make it...

Suddenly, she saw it, the glimmer of the surface, the light that would take her too freedom. But her limbs were heavy, her eyes as well. She tried to fight, but her body was uncooperative. She felt as if she were about to fall into a heavy sleep, and a weak sob escaped her.

At that moment, a hand reached below the surface and grasped her shoulder, the injured one. Pain bloomed in her as she felt herself being yanked toward the surface, and broke forth. She tried to gasp for air but felt as if she was frozen, unable to even blink. She gave a pitiful sound, and heard a voice shouting for everyone to move!

She was dropped over the edge of something firm, her abdomen pressed into it. Hands pushed her against it harder still, and Sansa felt herself purged of the sea water, gagging as it left her body, choking as air filled her once again.

"You're alive!" A voice she scarcely recognized cried. A feminine voice. 

_Arya? Or is it Brienne?_

_Daenerys?_

Sansa tried to respond properly, to discover the source of the voice, but felt herself grow heavy with exhaustion. Frustrated, she felt herself being pulled under the depths of grayness.

The last voice she heard was undeniably Bran's.

"Sleep, Sansa. You did well."


	60. Update!

Hi everyone. 

 

I am writing this *chapter* to let you all know that I have not abandoned this fic! I had some things come up in my life that took up quite a bit of time and energy. It was difficult to find the time, or inspiration to write. No matter how badly I've struggled through this fic, I've grown really fond of it. I missed it, and all of you amazing readers. However, I am now (hopefully!!!!) back to writing, and blundering through the world of GoT and SanSan fandom. I apologize for only now updating, but I hope to be back very soon!


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